


words of blue, warmth of red

by mochibbh



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, past/implied tenkun, past/onesided yuil, side JohnYong, side/implied jaewin markwoo and nahyuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-17 22:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 36,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19964287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochibbh/pseuds/mochibbh
Summary: Doyoung’s face hovers inches above Yuta’s, and his green eyes glare coldly down at him. He scoffs lightly, his breath fanning over Yuta’s cheeks, and the branches on Yuta’s arms tighten. “Why should I help you?” Doyoung asks him, malice dripping from the question.Yuta’s eyes tremble but his resolve remains steadfast. “I don’t know what else to do,” he whispers.🌿🌿🌿During Yuta’s search for love, he meets Doyoung on a mountain, whispering to trees and letting his words be carried by the wind.





	1. i fall away

**Author's Note:**

> prompt #n-906: When Yuta turns 18, a witch falls in love with him. He rejects her and she places a curse on him, making him immortal and eternally young but unable to fall in love. For dozens of years, Yuta tries to find a witch that could break the spell. In the top a mountain, he meets Doyoung, a powerful wizard who talks to the trees and whispers to the wind.
> 
> rated T for minor depictions of blood and language. 
> 
> title from [palette by nano.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bkr4Tf--b38)
> 
>   
> _"hear now, my words of blue, inside the tears that you cry // i'll catch them as they fall"_
> 
> edit post-reveals: it is i !! the author with only one doyu and one renmin fic published lmaooooo. i joined enrara bc writing on a deadline seems to motivate me more, and even though i was incredibly stressed the last week, i'm glad i pushed through to make something people seem to enjoy. i truly fell in love with every character and the world they live in through writing this and would love to write more about them in the future. 
> 
> thank you to my friend, n, for putting up with me sending her chunks of writing every time i updated and thought it was garbage. you really helped me believe the things i write aren't all that bad <3 
> 
> thanks so, so much to the mods for hosting so well and for being so accommodating with my many, MANY setbacks and extension requests. life is been SO hectic for me recently, so this helped a lot with finishing this fic. 
> 
> i'll put my socials here for those who have already read it and wanna connect, but i'll also put them at the end of the fic!! happy reading everyone <3 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/mochibbh) // [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/mochibbh0201)

_“We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and I’ve been getting to know you a lot, and I—what I’m trying to say is that I—I love you. I love you, Yuta.”_

* * *

The alarm on Yuta’s bedside table blares at 7:30 AM, and he runs from his bathroom to shut it off, his toothbrush still in between his teeth. “Don’t even know why I still set it,” he grumbles around his toothbrush, tilting his chin up so the toothpaste in his mouth doesn’t dribble off of his face. He walks back to the bathroom to keep washing up and makes a mental note to stop setting his alarm. He always wakes up before it rings, anyways.

After he’s washed his face, he looks into the mirror and runs his hand through his freshly dyed hair. It’s a soft fuchsia this time, something Yuta’s never tried before.

It’s his fourteenth color.

His fingers twirl a few strands around before he decides it looks good enough. He takes one last glance in the mirror before flipping the light off and going about the rest of his morning routine.

For someone who’s seventy years old, Yuta knows he doesn’t look a day older than twenty-five, and it doesn’t faze him anymore.

🌿🌿🌿

It takes Yuta fifteen minutes to walk from his apartment to his work, twenty if he stops by that café next door for coffee. It’s his sixth job yet, and his favorite so far, so he never minds having to wake up and work early hours that aren’t busy at all. He likes that it’s a short walk from his apartment and he likes that his favorite café sits next door, but his favorite thing about working at the bookstore is that it has something for everybody. They hold books of all languages from all periods of time, vinyl’s for artists of every genre, art pieces by local artists. Yuta has fun watching children excitedly flip through their new children’s books and foreigners’ looks of surprise as they find a book in their native language.

As an added bonus, he likes that the owner of the shop is exceedingly kind, but not overbearingly so. He’s an older man in his mid-eighties who works the afternoon shifts with his daughter, and he lives in the second floor of the building, above the shop. Every morning, he brings down homemade kimbap before Yuta’s shift that Yuta and his coworker always inhale within the hour. Yuta hasn’t made himself breakfast on a work day in five years.

He finds himself staring at the older man more often than not. He’s supposed to look like that, wrinkles lining his skin and hair missing where hair should be. He should look like that, but he doesn’t.

He decides to pay the café a visit this morning since it’s the beginning of winter, which means they stock those seasonal drinks he likes to try. The girl working at the register takes his order and flirts lightly, and Yuta returns her advances with pleasantries and a smile, as always. He’s out the door in five minutes with a cinnamon orange hot chocolate that he sips gently as he pushes the door to the bookstore open with his foot.

The drink is good, Yuta decides. He likes it.

“Hey, Johnny,” Yuta greets, flipping their sign that hangs on the glass panel of the door from “Closed” to “Open.” His coworker is leaning back against the wall behind the register that sits in the right corner of the front of the store, stuffing kimbap into his mouth, making Yuta scoff. “Leave some for me, you buffoon. Have you tried this drink? It’s, uh, orange hot chocolate. I think I like it.” He shrugs his winter coat off and hangs it on the hook behind the register, next to where Johnny is leaning, and pins his nametag to the front of his shirt.

Johnny makes a small noise of recognition. “Yeah, I had to taste test all the new drinks last night.” Yuta’s mouth makes a small _oh_ shape; Johnny works part time at the café as his second job and is usually the one responsible for putting new drinks on the menu. “It’s good, right? I love it, I think it’s my favorite of the winter drinks,” Johnny says around a mouthful of kimbap. “You know, besides the actual coffee.”

Yuta makes a face at the food in Johnny’s mouth but pops a piece of kimbap into his own mouth. “Why orange?” he asks.

“It’s in season. Citrus fruits are in season now, like lemon and grapefruit.”

“Are they?” Yuta wonders. He files the information away, glad to learn something new. His eyes wander to the ring on Johnny’s finger, the thin band looking like twines of interwoven, golden branches. In the middle sits a small, red stone, a ruby, Yuta remembers Johnny telling him. “How’s Taeyong?” he asks, reaching for another piece of kimbap.

Johnny’s face brightens in an instant, and Yuta wishes it didn’t make the food taste sour on his tongue. “He’s doing well,” he says, reaching for Yuta’s drink and taking a sip, grinning into it. “We’re doing really well.”

Yuta snatches his drink away from Johnny’s hand and takes a sip of his own. “Got a date for the wedding yet?” He knows Taeyong only proposed a week ago, but he’s still curious. He takes another, bigger sip from his drink, and it burns his tongue.

Johnny shrugs against the wall and spins the ring around his finger in small movements. “Not anytime soon, that’s for sure,” he says as an answer. He brings an arm up to run his hand through his hair, pushing it back and out of his forehead, and Yuta belatedly remembers that Johnny is actually really hot when he’s not talking with his mouth full, but the thought leaves as soon as it came. “We both knew if we were ever going to get married that there would be some… complications, but I don’t mind. We’re both okay with how things are now.” He takes Yuta’s drink again to take another sip, and Yuta doesn’t try to stop him.

He eyes Johnny for a moment, watching as his black hair falls back onto his forehead and waits to see if he has a reaction to the obviously attractive man by his side, to see if his heart stutters at all. It doesn’t.

“Well, as long as you both are happy,” Yuta tells him. Johnny beams back at him, the look in his eyes making it so, _so_ obvious how in love he is with Taeyong, and _that_ makes Yuta’s heart drop a centimeter lower.

Johnny looks at him a second longer and ruffles his hair, popping the last piece of kimbap into his mouth before walking out from behind the counter to sort through boxes of newly donated books. Yuta downs the rest of his hot drink in one go and tosses it into the trash, leaning his elbows forward on the counter. His head hangs between his shoulders and lolls to the side as he thinks about how much Johnny loves Taeyong. He’s met Taeyong, too, because he stops by during Johnny’s lunch breaks sometimes to bring him food. Yuta can see it in Taeyong’s eyes, how much how adores Johnny, and Yuta is happy for them, but he’s just the slightest bit jealous, even if he wishes he wasn’t.

Their love for each other is so bright and beautiful. Yuta had loved like that, once, but he doesn’t anymore, not since he was eighteen.

He can’t.

* * *

Taeil throws Yuta a huge party when he turns eighteen because, “It’s your first year and you haven’t experienced a college party yet! Also I’m your best friend, so you deserve the best from me,” he’d said with a teasing smile.

Yuta, who’d already known Taeil for three years at that point, just smiled back and said, “If that’s what you want.”

That night, their apartment is thrumming with music and people that Yuta mostly knows—some are Taeil’s friends that he’s never met before, but most are people from Yuta’s classes or his soccer team that he knows well enough. Everyone has a drink in their hand except for Yuta, who doesn’t think he’d feel comfortable being drunk with all these people in his apartment. He doesn’t mind being sober at all though, making his rounds at the party and having fun talking with all of his friends. Taeil occasionally drunkenly makes his way over to Yuta and throws his arms around his neck from behind, wishing him a happy birthday. Yuta laughs and pinches his cheeks or ruffles his hair every time, making sure to shove glasses of water in Taeil’s hand when he gets the chance.

He pulls away from the noise and the crowd to slip into his bedroom and get a minute of reprieve from the commotion, but he doesn’t expect to see someone standing in the middle of his room, looking around curiously.

When she notices him walk in, she turns her head and greets Yuta with a warm smile. Yuta recognizes her as Jinri.

Yuta thinks he knows Jinri pretty well—he’s been tutoring her in Japanese since the beginning of the school year and he goes to her apartment sometimes to study for their shared English class. She’s kind to him even though she’s a year ahead, and she’s pretty, her full lips and crescent eyes smiling at him often. Everyone practically falls at her feet for attention from her, and Yuta can tell she relishes in it, but above it all, she’s kind to all those who would do anything for her even when she’s not interested in them. Yuta admires that about her.

He doesn’t know what she’s doing in his room, though. “Hi, noona,” he greets with a grin. He walks by her to turn on the lamp by his bed for more light. “You doing okay? I know it’s pretty loud out there,” he comments, knowing she doesn’t typically like commotion.

She’s silent for a moment before shaking her head and sending another grin his way. “No, I’m okay,” she says. Yuta nods, but before he can do anything else, she steps closer to him. “Actually, I have something to tell you.” She fidgets in place a bit, and she’s close enough for Yuta to smell her perfume, flowery and strong, but he doesn’t smell any alcohol, so he nods.

Jinri takes a breath. “Firstly, happy birthday, of course,” she starts. “I’m really happy that we, ah, that we met.”

Yuta cocks his head to the side. “Me too, noona,” he agrees, not sure where she’s going with this.

She fidgets again before speaking up. “Well, what I want to say is that… well.” Jinri pauses to take another breath, and when she speaks again, she seems calmer. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together,” she continues, “and I’ve been getting to know you a lot, and I—what I’m trying to say is that I—I love you. I love you, Yuta.”

At the end of it, she’s looking determinedly into Yuta’s eyes, that widen in response. He wasn’t expecting this, and to say he’s caught off guard is an understatement, but Yuta’s done this before, so he can do it again.

He gives Jinri a small smile, schooling his expression into something a tad regretful, and tells her, “Thank you for telling me, noona, really. But I’m sorry, I can’t return your feelings.”

Yuta expects her to deflate like he’s seen others do before, maybe even cry, but she only raises an eyebrow at him. “But you haven’t even tried,” she says.

Yuta blinks, because she’s right, but he explains himself. “Truthfully, noona, I already have someone I love, and I like where we are now,” he says almost sheepishly. “That won’t change for anybody. I’m sorry.”

Jinri stares at him for a few moments, jaw clenched, looking like she wants to say something. Eventually she backs away from Yuta and turns to exit his room, stopping in the doorway. She looks over her shoulder, eyes cold in a way that Yuta’s never seen before, and murmurs, “You’ll regret that.”

She walks out without another word and Yuta doesn’t see her for the rest of the night.

When the crowd thins out and only a couple of people are left, Yuta sees them out with a smile, thanking them for coming. As soon as they’re out the door, Taeil drapes himself over Yuta again, arms around his neck, and Yuta laughs through his nose. He turns around in his hold so he’s facing Taeil and holds him by the waist against his body, relishing in the feeling of Taeil’s warmth against himself. Taeil is pouting up at him and Yuta leans his head down to rub his forehead roughly against Taeil’s, who whines.

Yuta thinks he could stay like this forever.

Instead, he lifts his head from Taeil’s and pulls away, helping Taeil stand. He smiles down at his best friend and says, “Come on Illie, let’s get you into bed.”

When Yuta wakes up, he can tell immediately that something is off, but he can’t pinpoint what it is.

He tries to ignore it and goes about his morning routine as usual, washing up and putting on clean clothes before tapping his knuckles gently against Taeil’s door. When he gets no response, he opens it slowly, softly, so he doesn’t wake Taeil up.

Yuta is met with the sight of Taeil lying in bed on his stomach, his arm dangling off the side, his expression soft and serene as he breathes quietly. His hair sticks up in tufts all over his head, and Yuta is endeared by the sight, filled to the brim with butterflies in his stomach and a heartbeat that’s too loud for his ears every time he sees it.

Except this time, he isn’t. 

His breath hitches and stops, and he does hear his heart pound in his ears, but out of panic. He backs away, step by step, and quickly closes the door to Taeil’s bedroom, reaching up to clutch the left side of his chest.

 _Why aren’t you working normally,_ he thinks desperately, his breath speeding up. And he realizes, suddenly, why he felt off from the moment he woke up: _Taeil wasn’t my first thought this morning._

“I love him, I know I love him, why does it feel like I don’t?” he whispers to himself, racking his brain for _anything_ , and he remembers Jinri’s stony eyes from the night before.

_“You’ll regret that.”_

All of the noise in Yuta’s head stops, and before he can register what he’s doing, he’s grabbing his keys and booking it out of his building, running to Jinri’s apartment.

Jinri is a fifteen-minute train ride from Yuta’s apartment, and a forty-minute walk, but Yuta runs the whole way and doesn’t stop for a second. It’s the middle of autumn, the cold wind biting at Yuta’s bare arms and his cheeks, but he keeps running until he’s reached his destination.

He knocks on their door impatiently, out of breath, knowing that Jinri is home because she doesn’t have class at this time. Eventually, after what feels like hours, the door opens, just a crack, and Yuta sees Jinri’s sister peeking out of it.

“Yuta,” Sooyoung says, her eyes widening. “Sorry, you can’t come in, Jinri is—she’s sick, you shouldn’t see her now,” the words tumble out in a rush.

“I need to see her, noona, sorry,” he mumbles, breathless, and pushes past Sooyoung before she can shut him out. He ignores her protests as he runs to Jinri’s bedroom and all but throws the door open.

He thinks, at least, that Sooyoung wasn’t lying to him.

Jinri is lying on her bed, her usually rosy cheeks gone grey, sunken in. The skin under her eyes are dark, nearly charcoal in color, and her limbs are reduced to pale skin and bone. Yuta’s eyes flicker down to the floor, where he sees dried blood in a pattern he can’t recognize. The room smells faintly of lilies and marigolds, and there are wax candles sitting everywhere he looks, long since burnt out.

Jinri notices him standing in the doorway and struggles to sit herself up in the bed, leaning back onto her elbows. She levels him with a blank look before Yuta drags his eyes back to her, asking with uncertainty, “What did you do?”

The two of them exist in silence, both of them seemingly collecting their breaths. Eventually Jinri says, voice rough and scratchy and not at all what Yuta is used to, “I said you’ll regret that.”

Yuta swallows roughly. “What did you _do,_ ” he repeats, louder, more desperate than before. The scent of marigold threatens to overwhelm him, and he has to make an effort not to back out of the room for fresh air.

It’s quiet again, Jinri making no move to answer, and something in Yuta threatens to break. “Noona, _please,_ ” he pleads, voice cracking.

Jinri flinches at the sound, and finally, she whispers, “I stole it.”

Yuta’s breath catches at the answer, not knowing what she means. “Stole what?”

“Your love,” Jinri spits, blank expression turning into a harsh glare. “I stole your love, _all_ of it, tried to manipulate it, tried to make it _mine,_ ” she snarls, and Yuta hardly recognizes her. “It wouldn’t listen to me, your love was so fucking strong and I’m still too weak—” She stops herself, heaving breaths with difficulty, angry frustration radiating off of her in waves. “So I cursed you, instead,” she continues, voice leveling out. “If I couldn’t make you love me, then I didn’t want you to love _anyone._ Your love is gone, Yuta, forever.”

Yuta’s feels as if the whole world has stopped, his breath stopping with it, his heartbeat the only thing he hears. “What do you mean?” His voice sounds foreign, distant.

Jinri scoffs, but it comes out more as a weak huff. “Whoever you loved before—you don’t love them anymore, do you? You may remember what it’s like, but you don’t feel it anymore, and you never will again, for anything or anyone,” she explains, clinically, like it’s simple.

The world closes in around him, his breath still caught in his throat as his mind spirals into panic, because he loves Taeil, he _knows_ he loves him, but he can’t feel any of it, and he’s terrified. Loving Taeil is all he knows, loving Taeil is his constant and his relief, and Yuta loves to _love_ him, but the feeling is no longer there, leaving him hollow in its wake.

“You should know that’s not all,” he hears Sooyoung say hesitantly from behind him. He doesn’t turn around to face her. “She placed another curse on you, one of immortality.” The way she explains it is similar to how Jinri did, casual and matter-of-fact. “If she did it right, you’ll stop aging somewhere in your twenties.” He feels a cautious hand on his shoulder and hears Jinri mumble under her breath, “That one was an accident,” but it doesn’t matter to Yuta. “I’m really sorry, Yuta,” Sooyoung says, and she sounds like she means it. “I wasn’t home last night, if I had known what she was doing, I would have stopped her. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t answer her, doesn’t move for what feels like years, but before he can think about it, he’s shrugging past Sooyoung and slowly making his way out of the apartment. As he leaves, he hears Sooyoung say, exasperated, “You’re such a fucking _idiot._ You’ve really ruined his life, irreversibly. Go back to sleep if you don’t want to die.” 

Yuta is mindless the whole forty-minute walk back to his apartment, the white noise in his head leading him to drag one foot in front of the other until he’s home. The apartment is empty, since Taeil has already left for class, but Yuta doesn’t think about that as he walks into his bedroom and sits on the side of his bed, head hanging low.

Finally, the gears in his brain start to turn, and his arm flies up to his chest again to grasp at his heart. He tries to breathe in air but he feels like he can’t, and he grips at his shirt with enough force for the material to tear.

The phrases, _“immortality”_ and _“stop aging”_ and _“your love is gone, Yuta, forever,”_ fly around in his head with no end, no concrete thought connecting any of them, and a dry sob is wrenched out of him from the desperation he feels. His eyes frantically catch on a photo on his desk of him and Taeil from Taeil’s high school graduation, the one where Yuta is lifting him bodily into the air with a wild smile on his face that Taeil mirrors, the one that Yuta looks at to remember how long he’s loved Taeil and how much joy loving Taeil brings him.

The photo doesn’t do anything for him anymore, and everything around Yuta screeches to a halt.

Loving Taeil was fireflies on a late summer night and eating ice cream together in the winter. Loving Taeil was secretly linking pinkies together during class and passing notes until they got caught. Loving Taeil was peppermint scented candles, birthdays at their favorite pizza shop, late night sleepovers, and listening to music together until they fell asleep. Loving Taeil was _everything._

Yuta clutches at his chest tighter, willing himself to feel it all, to feel the fluttering of his stomach and warm cheeks at the thought of Taeil’s smile, the fond one that makes Yuta feel like he can do anything, but there’s nothing. He closes his eyes and thinks of roasted, umber hair and russet eyes and rosy lips.

There’s nothing.

Yuta lets out a slow, silent breath as his shoulders gradually deflate, his hand falling to his side limply. He doesn’t move from where his back is slightly hunched over, sitting on the side of his bed, and his eyes stare blankly at the floor. He remembers what it was like to look at Taeil and feel nothing but love, he can recall it with so much clarity, but he can’t feel it anymore.

There’s no more love left in Yuta.

* * *

When Yuta comes home from work, he toes off his shoes at the entrance and throws his tote bag onto his couch, shedding his winter coat and discarding it on the couch as well. His apartment is bleary at best, with few decorations lining the interior, but Yuta finds he doesn’t care. Maybe he would have, once.

He makes a beeline for his bedroom, looking forward to shedding his clothes and taking a nap, and that’s exactly what he does. He flops down into his bed, the sheets cool against his bare skin, and Yuta thinks this feeling is the closest he has to feeling love. A bitter scoff makes its way out of his mouth, and he turns his head to the side to eye the photo on his bedside table. He reaches out for it, pulling it towards him so he can take a better look at the same photo from all those decades ago, the colors faded but their expressions remaining just as excited. Fondness settles in his bones, because even if he doesn’t love him now, he loved Taeil once.

Yuta stopped keeping in contact with Taeil when he moved to Osaka for law school. He figured it was the best way to cut all contact with him at that point, not knowing in the future how he would explain to Taeil why he still looked like he was in his twenties when they were well past fifty.

It was easier than Yuta would have thought, seeing as he and Taeil were already beginning to grow distant anyways, what with Yuta working in Osaka and Taeil remaining in Korea. Yuta’s sure it would have hurt much more if he was still in love. Small mercies, he supposes.

He didn’t tell Taeil when he moved back to Seoul over thirty years later, but it didn’t matter. Taeil wasn’t there when Yuta came back. 

He tries not to think of Taeil often, and he usually doesn’t, but in the quiet of his apartment, his heart sometimes aches for what could have been, yearning to love again. He blames it on becoming closer with Johnny and Taeyong, who are so in love with each other Yuta can nearly feel it just by being with them.

But Yuta’s life isn’t all bad, and that’s what he tells himself most days. He enjoys things, has fun, has things he doesn’t like that keep his life interesting enough. But the passion he once held, the willingness to go the extra mile for the things he _loved,_ that’s gone. Things he loved, like soccer, studying criminal justice, oyako donburi—these are all things he just favors a bit more than others, now.

He doesn’t know why it takes him fifty-two years to admit to himself, but his heart hurts for the years he’s lost to a loveless life, a life of lukewarm water and shades of grey. There’s no more color in his life.

His body shoots up in his bed, his hands clinging onto the photo in his lap. The apartment rings eerily silent around him as he stares at the happiness that was once on his face, fingers dragging lightly along the side of it.

Yuta has an eternity left, and he thinks that eternity is much too long to be spent living a life of dull greys any longer.

But he remembers Sooyoung’s words from all those years ago: _“You’ve really ruined his life, irreversibly.”_

Yuta knows he lives his life in shades of grey and monochrome emotion. He knows that this is it.

There’s nothing he can do.

🌿🌿🌿

The thing about the bookstore that Yuta works at now is that it was familiar to him even before he started working there five years ago. More specifically, it was the café next to the bookstore that he was well acquainted with in his high school years, stopping by every Friday with Taeil to grab their favorite drinks. When Yuta moved back to Seoul after working in Osaka for over thirty years, he made sure to pick an apartment within walking distance of the café. Even if Taeil was no longer there to enjoy the drinks with him, Yuta still found himself visiting long after the staff he knew decades ago had moved on.

The café has undergone a few changes since Yuta was in high school, like an updated paint job and an entirely new crew of workers, but its familiar and comfortable vibe still holds strong enough for Yuta to consider it home. Besides, with Johnny consistently putting new drinks on the menu, Yuta finds the changes a burst of excitement in his grey life.

“You should try the lemon spearmint tea next time, I think you’d like it. There’s lemongrass and honey in it, too,” Johnny tells Yuta as the two of them exit the bookstore together. They’ve just finished up their shifts, the store owner taking over for them for the remaining hours the store is open. Yuta walks the few feet over to the café with Johnny, who occasionally has short shifts at the café right after his ones at the bookstore. 

The cold air whips at Yuta’s cheeks, a thin layer of snow crunching lightly under his feet as he nods. “I’ll try it tomorrow, then.” He pats Johnny on the back as they reach the door of the café together. “Don’t work too hard, Taeyong will be sad if you go home late,” he teases.

Johnny rolls his eyes and presses his hand against the door to push it open. “I know, I know. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he waves as he walks into the café. He keeps waving through the wall-length window, making Yuta snort as he waves back.

When Johnny’s turned his back to the window, Yuta walks away and turns the corner into the alleyway between this building and the one next to it. It’s not a very big alley, just wide enough for Yuta to walk through it without the material of his clothes catching on the brick walls, but walking through it makes Yuta’s commute shorter. He had walked through the same alley a thousand times with Taeil when they were still in high school, albeit much more comfortably with their skinny limbs and intertwined hands. Even if it was over fifty years ago, Yuta can still tell nothing about this alleyway has changed.

All remains the same except for one thing: a wooden door right as Yuta turns the corner.

It’s a door painted brick red, looking worn down with age, which Yuta finds odd since he thinks the door is younger than he is, seeing as it only appeared after Yuta left for Osaka. A sign hangs towards the top of the door, and the text on the brown wood reads “Shop” in Korean, followed by a language underneath that Yuta has yet to decipher. Beneath the sign there’s a word woven in flowers that says “Open!” Yuta recognizes the flowers as white viburnum interwoven with pink heather, and he mentally pats himself on the back for recalling his time spent working at a flower shop while he was still in law school. The doorknob is a shiny gold, making it stand out in contrast to the aged door.

Yuta’s never been inside. He’s always walked by the door, only occasionally pausing for a moment to see if he can recognize that second language on the sign, but he’s always stumped. He’s never stood and observed it for this long, never bothered to ask Johnny or the bookstore owner or the staff at the café what it is. There’s never been any reason for Yuta to stop inside the shop; he doesn’t even know what kind of shop it is, anyways.

Before he can turn around and walk back home, his hand reaches for the doorknob. It’s not freezing cold, like Yuta was expecting due to the snowy weather, but instead it’s comfortably warm to the touch, which Yuta finds equal parts interesting and kind of gross.

Yuta turns the knob before he loses whatever curiosity has taken over him and steps inside.

As soon as he’s closed the door behind him, Yuta is met with the sight of different flowers in every crevice of the room he’s in. From bright mahonia to droopy snowdrops, the room holds a vibrant array of flowers, some that Yuta can’t even put a name to.

There’s a large window to the left that sits in the middle of the wall, protruding out just enough for there to be a comfortable place to sit. The spot holds a few pillows and a blanket, and underneath sits planters filled with purple violets, which makes Yuta’s face brighten immediately. He walks over, maneuvering around a worn couch and wooden table in the room to get to them.

Violets were his favorite when he worked at the flower shop all those years ago, and these particular ones are a light purple with a white center, his favorite shade. If he could, Yuta would probably love these flowers, would probably have them all over his apartment, but as it is, he doesn’t care for them enough to decorate his home with them. He bends over and leans his face closer to them to take in more of their scent, eyes closed and sighing lightly.

When he opens his eyes again, they fall on a round, tiny beach mouse, its fur a pale cream color, sleeping soundly amongst the flowers.

Yuta squeaks in surprise and jumps backwards. He guesses he must have missed seeing the little mouse in his delight for the violets. The mouse slowly blinks its eyes open but makes no other moves as it shimmies to get more comfortable in the planter, and Yuta breathes out in relief.

“Oh, you like the violets? I’m so glad, you’re the first one to notice them!” Yuta hears from behind him.

He whips around to face whoever spoke to him and comes face to face with a boy with dark brown hair, not any taller than him, and a gorgeous smile to match the rest of his face. The stranger puts his hands up to placate Yuta, saying, “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” His grin turns apologetic, and Yuta can’t find it in himself to be irritated at being startled.

“It’s okay,” Yuta tells him. He turns his head to eye the violets again. “They’re beautiful, really. Is this your shop?” he asks, curious.

The boy nods happily. “I mean, it’s technically my parents’, but I inherited it, so it’s mine now. The flowers are all _definitely_ mine, I grew them all myself.” He looks around proudly at the flowers decorating the room.

Yuta is impressed, has been impressed since the moment he stepped into the room. “They’re all so beautiful and healthy,” he says. He makes a small sound when he remembers the mouse he just saw and tells the boy, “Oh, I just found a mouse in the violets, by the way. Just to let you know.”

“Oh, don’t worry about him. He likes to sleep by the window because it gets the most sun,” the shop owner explains with a laugh.

Yuta chuckles nervously with him, confused. He’s about to ask if the mouse is his pet when he hears a low growl come from behind the stranger. He moves to the side and sees a giant dog, an Akita, he recognizes, with dark brown fur on its muzzle, ears, and back, while the rest of its body is covered in white and cream shades. It’s standing at the bottom of a wooden staircase, head placed low, still growling, with its dark chocolate colored eyes glaring harshly at Yuta. He gulps anxiously, turning to the stranger. “Uh, is that your dog?”

Before the shop owner can answer, Yuta hears a voice yell from the staircase, “Why’s he so defensive, who’s here?” Another boy with fluffy, brown hair bounds down the steps to take his place next to the dog, and his eyes widen upon seeing Yuta. “Oh, is this a customer?” He turns to the dog with a disapproving expression on his face. “Chill, Jae. If he was dangerous, Jisung would have let us know by now,” he says, somewhat exasperated and amused at the same time. The dog glances at the boy standing next to him and stops his growling as he raises his head, eyes still glaring at Yuta. The boy places his hand in between the dog’s ears and rubs affectionately, making the glower in his eyes soften.

“Yeah, definitely not dangerous,” Yuta clarifies as his nervousness starts to subside.

The shop owner in front of him raises an eyebrow tiredly at the dog. “You can’t just growl at everyone like that, Jaehyun. You’ll scare away innocent customers,” he says. The way he says it tells Yuta it’s not his first time lecturing the dog.

In the blink of an eye and a swirl of auburn colors, the dog is replaced with a boy, one with hair such a soft shade of brown it’s nearly pink, but with the same eyes as the Akita. “He’s _not_ just a customer,” he says, voice deep. He stalks forward towards Yuta and stops when he’s standing next to the shop owner, his glare returning. “He has dark magic in him,” he says lowly.

The shop owner turns to the boy by the staircase. “Does he, Woo? I can’t tell,” he says, starting to eye Yuta warily.

“He does, but it’s not his. He’s been cursed,” a sleepy voice from behind Yuta explains. Yuta spins around to see another boy, his hair a dusty brown and his irises navy blue, uncannily similar to the mouse’s. “He’s not a threat,” he adds, looking down a bit to glance at Yuta, nodding to himself. He rubs his eyes sleepily and yawns. “You woke me up for nothing, Jaehyun,” he whines.

The Akita boy, Jaehyun, pouts. “Sorry, it’s just—dark magic puts me on edge,” he apologizes, a guilty lilt to his voice.

The boy by the staircase walks forwards and pats Jaehyun’s head. “It’s okay, Jae. Jisung’s the only one who can tell if it’s dangerous or not,” he soothes.

“Whaaat the fuck,” Yuta says, looking from one boy to another. He’d like to be able to say he’s not fazed, but— “What… the fuck.”

The tall boy next to Jaehyun squints at Yuta, his eyes briefly flashing pitch black before his face lights up in surprise. “Oh! He’s human,” he chirps lightly.

“He’s what?” the shop owner and Jaehyun say confusedly, their eyes training back on Yuta. “How could he even see the shop, then?” the shop owner asks, raising an eyebrow at Yuta, who’s still perplexed as ever.

“It’s the dark magic in him,” the boy behind Yuta, Jisung, says. “He’s still human, he can just see through illusions that most humans can’t, now.”

 _Guess that explains the door,_ Yuta realizes. He starts realizing a lot of things, like how he’s never noticed the window from the outside before and that the amount of flowers lining the walls and sitting in pots or planters seem to be too many to grow comfortably in this one room. He guesses this is a flower shop, but he can’t really be too sure of anything, now. “So are you saying you guys aren’t human?” he asks, information catching up to his stunned brain.

The shop owner grins sheepishly, and even through Yuta’s dumbfounded mind, he still thinks this boy’s smile is one of the loveliest he’s ever seen. “You must be pretty weirded out,” he says, sounding sorry. “I’m Jaemin, and this—” Jaemin points to the boy next to Jaehyun, “this is Jungwoo, he helps me out around here.” Jungwoo grins happily and waves. Jaemin looks back to Yuta and smiles warmly. “We’re witches.”

🌿🌿🌿

“Wait, so how come you and Jaehyun couldn’t tell I was human but Jisung and Jungwoo could?” Yuta asks around a mouthful of bibimbap.

Since walking into the shop a few days ago, Yuta has taken to spending his lunches with Jaemin and Jungwoo, mostly because he’s so curious about their world and likes to stop by to have conversations and ask questions, but also because he finds out Jaemin is damn good at making food. He tries not to stick around for too long since Jaehyun still sends him glares here and there, but otherwise, Yuta likes spending time at the shop.

Now, Yuta, Jaemin, and Jisung are in the small apartment above the shop that Yuta has learned is Jaemin’s and Jungwoo’s. There are still flowers everywhere, but there are other objects that make the apartment more livable that the shop doesn’t have, like a small kitchen table and a bigger couch. The three of them are sitting at the circular table eating Jaemin’s bibimbap while Jungwoo and Jaehyun hold down the fort in the shop.

Jaemin makes a small _ah_ sound at Yuta’s question and reaches towards the middle of the table to get some more sides for himself. “Jaehyun and I aren’t as good at picking up on that sort of thing. I don’t really practice magic outside of the things I already know, unlike Jungwoo who’s studying magic right now. He can use it to discern whether or not you’re human,” he explains, putting his spoon into his mouth and chewing. “And Jaehyun just doesn’t have that sense, not like Jisung does.”

Yuta looks to Jisung for more explanation, but one look tells him that Jisung is only half-listening, too busy chewing thoughtfully on his food, so Yuta turns back to Jaemin. “So, Jisung and Jaehyun are your…”

“Familiars,” Jaemin finishes. “Jisung is mine, Jaehyun is Jungwoo’s.” He reaches over to pat Jisung’s head lightly, and Jisung acknowledges him with a relaxed grin, his eyes fluttering shut. “Most familiars just sort of appear to you when a witch turns eighteen, but not always. Jisung appeared for me when I was around six, so we basically grew up together, and Jaehyun appeared when Jungwoo was eight,” he says, continuing to pat Jisung’s head, who looks seconds away from nodding off, even with his spoon still in his mouth. “Familiars basically have two reasons for existing: to help when witches use their magic and to protect their witches. Obviously, they’re all individuals of their own and lead their own lives, but those are their foremost duties, you could say,” Jaemin tells Yuta. He pulls his arm back to keep eating, and Jisung blinks out of his sleepy haze to do the same.

Yuta looks at the two of them curiously. “That’s pretty cool,” he says, moving a stray piece of carrot around his bowl with his spoon. “Do they all have different…” Yuta considers the word he’s looking for. “…Abilities? Is that the right word? Like, is that why Jisung could tell I was human while Jaehyun couldn’t?”

Jaemin shoots finger guns at Yuta. “Right! You’re getting it,” Jaemin praises, standing to collect all three of their bowls. When Yuta looks back at Jisung, there’s a cream colored mouse in his place on the tabletop, crawling over to the space in front of Yuta to curl up. Yuta hesitantly brings a finger up to the mouse to stroke his fur gently. Jisung bristles slightly and relaxes, so Yuta continues the action. “I’m pretty garbage at sensing malicious intent, I usually can’t even tell if someone is a human or a witch,” he hears Jaemin say from his kitchen over the sounds of dishes in the sink. “Jisung makes up for that. I guess you could say his ‘ability’ is knowing danger and when it’s coming. For Jaehyun, he doesn’t need anything like that, since Jungwoo is training his magic to be able to sense that kind of thing.” Jaemin walks back to the table and coos when he sees Yuta petting Jisung. He sits at his seat and offers Yuta an ice cream wrapped in plastic, and Yuta happily accepts, quickly ridding the matcha ice cream of the plastic and biting into it enthusiastically. Jaemin bites into his own chocolate ice cream and continues speaking. “With Jaehyun, his ability lies in his protectiveness, which is sort of upped compared to other familiars. You could probably already tell,” he says, munching on his ice cream.

Yuta makes the connection in his head—if Jisung’s ability to sense danger is to compensate for Jaemin’s lack of, then Jaehyun’s protectiveness is probably to make up for something that Jungwoo needs. He’s curious but can tell it’s not information Jaemin is willing to tell him, so he doesn’t pry. He nibbles on his ice cream cone instead, humming as he does so. “I could tell, but I can’t blame him. I’d be cautious if a stranger with ‘dark magic’ or whatever just waltzed their way in here, too,” he sympathizes. “I’m surprised you still trust me, honestly.”

“Jisung trusts you, so there’s no reason for me not to. Jisung’s never wrong,” Jaemin states. The certainty in his voice makes Yuta believe him, and he looks down to the napping mouse on the table, moving to rub the tip of his finger lightly on his head. “Speaking of dark magic,” Jaemin says slowly. Yuta looks back up to give him his attention, keeping his finger moving in slow circles on Jisung’s little head. “What are you cursed with? I never got around to asking since you just pop in and out during your lunch breaks with questions…”

“Oh, sorry,” Yuta says, sheepish about the amount of things he’s been asking the past few days during his short lunches. “Uh, eternal life. And inability to love,” he says easily, even though he’s never told anyone else before. A weight feels like it’s been lifted off of him, and he breathes a bit more easily. “I was cursed when I was eighteen. I’m actually seventy now,” he admits.

Jaemin’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Oh, so you’re not _that_ old,” he says.

“Not that old? I could be retired now, technically!” Yuta exclaims, cupping his hand over Jisung to block out the noise.

Jaemin chuckles. “Dude, you live _forever._ You could have been thousands of years old and still looking like you’re in your twenties.” His eyebrows draw together, and he purses his lips, thinking. “Actually fifty-two years might be enough…” he mutters.

Yuta’s ears perk up. “Enough?” he echoes, inquisitive.

Jaemin leans his head on his hand, his elbow propped up on the table. “Don’t… don’t freak out, I don’t know for sure, but…” He drums his fingers on the wood, and Yuta cocks his head in anticipation.

Jaemin looks him in the eye. “Fifty-two years may be a short enough time for the curses to be lifted. Both of them.”

For the first time since he was eighteen, Yuta’s breath stops. His mind goes dizzy with the possibilities, the thought that he could _love_ again almost incomprehensible to him, but he wants it, he wants it so much. His finger halts in its movement on Jisung’s head, and Jisung crawls back across the table. Dark, glittery blue swirls in the air until Jisung is a person again, seated next to Yuta.

“I think it’s possible, but you’d probably have to start the healing process soon or else it might be too late,” Jisung says. Jaemin nods in agreement. “Jaemin and I can’t help you, though, since Jaemin doesn’t practice that kind of magic,” he tells Yuta.

Yuta blinks, mouth moving before his head can catch up. “Then Jungwoo—”

“He can’t,” Jaemin counters immediately. His eyes are hard for a moment before they let up, and he shakes his head. Jisung plays with the ends of his sweater wordlessly. “Jungwoo’s still in training, and he doesn’t have the skills needed to deal with dark magic.” Jaemin softens and looks back at Yuta. “I—I think I do know someone who might be able to help, if you want it,” he offers.

Yuta can’t nod his head fast enough, his hands having moved to grip the edge of the tabletop, knuckles turning white from the pressure. “Please,” he whispers, almost begging.

Jaemin takes one more look at Yuta before nodding and shooting him a small grin. “Okay.”

🌿🌿🌿

Yuta’s fist hovers hesitantly over the door in front of him. He’s at the address that Jaemin gave him a couple of days ago, an apartment in the middle of the city right by the Han River and a ten-minute walk from the subway station, easily accessible to everyone in Seoul.

 _“This is where he works,”_ Jaemin said to him. _“Usually you’d need to call ahead and make an appointment a month or more in advance, but he also has walk-in hours on Friday’s, which is your best bet if you want to meet him as soon as you can. I’ll call him later to let you know you’re coming.”_

He didn’t tell Yuta anything else, like who this person is or how Jaemin knows him, but Yuta figures it doesn’t matter much. This is his only option.

He knocks his knuckles against the door with conviction, and the door opens a few moments later.

Yuta blinks. “Taeyong?”

“Yuta?” Taeyong’s brown eyes stare back at him in surprise, his black hair looking fluffier than the last time Yuta saw him with some added highlights.

He hears rustling from inside the apartment. “Huh? Yuta?” another confused voice pipes up.

Yuta peeks his head inside the doorway and finds Johnny moving into a sitting position on the couch. “Johnny?” he says, voice pitched higher.

“Dad? Something wrong?” Yuta hears someone holler from the hallway.

 _“Dad?”_ Yuta shouts, head whipping back and forth between Johnny and Taeyong.

A teenage boy’s head appears from corner that leads into the hall, eyebrow raised. “What’s all the yelling about?” he asks.

Another boy’s head appears above his. “Yeah, is everything okay?” His round glasses sit perilously, perched on the tip of his nose, and he scrunches it up to keep them from falling off.

Taeyong takes another glance at Yuta with shock written all over his expression. “Yeah, everything’s… fine,” he says, breathing out a soft laugh.

Johnny pats the space next to him on the couch. “Why don’t you come in, Yuta?” he offers, a grin forming on his face through the disbelief.

Yuta walks in as Taeyong shuts the door behind him, and he slips his shoes off, still looking between Taeyong and Johnny and the boys in the hall as he gingerly sits himself down next to Johnny. Taeyong joins them in an armchair not long after, crossing his legs and looking between Johnny and Yuta wordlessly as if that will answer any of the questions any of them have.

One of the boys in the hallway, the one with the glasses, steps out from the corner and sits on Johnny’s other side to peer at Yuta curiously. From this close, Yuta can see his features more clearly and finds that each of his round eyes are a different color, the right being black and the left being dark violet.

“Are you here to see Johnny or Dad?” the boy asks, head peeking out from behind Johnny’s shoulder.

The other boy scoffs and drapes himself over the couch’s armrest, crossing his arms over it and facing Yuta. “He’s probably the one Jaemin called about.” His eyes, hazel with golden flecks, flicker around Yuta’s face with feigned indifference.

 _Familiars,_ Yuta realizes. He turns to Johnny and says, with surprise, “You’re a witch?”

Johnny shakes his head and points a finger to Taeyong. “They’re both his,” he elaborates, making Taeyong laugh.

“They’re as much yours as they are mine now, but yes, they’re my familiars,” Taeyong states. He gives Yuta a quick once-over from his chair. “Jaemin already told me why you’re here, but I want to hear it from you,” he says, resting his head in his hand, suddenly serious.

The haze of surprise lifts off of Yuta, and he shrugs when Johnny raises an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think it was possible before, for the curses to be undone, lifted, reversed, whatever,” Yuta says, eyeing his hands that lie limply in his lap. “I thought it was permanent. She _said_ it was permanent, and even when I tried to find the person who did this to me to try and fix it, I couldn’t because they disappeared. But eventually I convinced myself it was fine, and it was for a while. I mean, it sucked, but it was doable. I didn’t think I had a choice anyways.” Yuta balls his hands up into fists and presses them into his thighs. “But ever since Jaemin said that there’s even a possibility—it’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

“Tell me why you want this,” Taeyong says, his expression giving nothing away.

Yuta finally looks up, into Taeyong’s eyes. He bites his lip, but eventually he tells him, “I’m not… I’m not _me_ if I can’t love, if I don’t have passion.” He swallows dryly, the reality of it setting in that he could finally _be_ again. “I haven’t been myself in a long time,” he murmurs.

Taeyong glances to the boys on the couch, and when the two of them look back and nod, Taeyong stands. “Wait here,” he says briefly, before he stands and makes his way into the hallway. The boy with glasses stands to follow him, leaving Yuta with Johnny and the other boy in the living room.

Yuta can’t shake the feeling that he’s just failed an interview or something, and Johnny must notice, because he places a comforting hand on his shoulder and says, “You don’t have to be worried. Taeyong wants to help you, he told me he does.”

It helps soothe Yuta’s nerves a bit, but he cocks his head in confusion. “He knew?”

Johnny looks at him, embarrassed, but before he can explain himself, the boy on the armrest pipes up. “Yuta, right? Taeyong could tell you were cursed since the moment he met you, but it’s his policy not to get involved unless you ask him yourself, or if you’re referred. Instead, he’s just been talking about how bad he feels and how worried he is about you,” he says. He doesn’t say anything else when Johnny shoots him a warning look, but he lifts himself from the armrest to plop down into the armchair Taeyong was in earlier.

Johnny looks at Yuta apologetically. “Taeyong doesn’t meddle if he’s not asked to,” he explains somewhat solemnly, eyes flicking up briefly to the boy in the armchair and glancing at a thin scar that runs across the bridge of the boy’s nose. His eyes quickly make their way back to Yuta’s face; Yuta would have missed it if he wasn’t paying attention. Yuta nods, not blaming Taeyong one bit, knowing he has a heart of gold. “But he definitely didn’t know it was you when Jaemin called,” Johnny continues. “I could tell he was really relieved when he saw you at the door, though. He’s been wanting to try to help you for the past few years that we’ve known you,” he confesses.

Yuta hums, letting that sink in. He rests his elbows on his knees and turns to look up at Johnny, smirking tiredly. “So, your fiancé’s a witch, huh?” he teases.

Johnny chuckles to himself and runs a hand through his hair, leaning back against the couch. “Yeah, well, you know. Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grins. The boy makes a gagging noise from the armchair and Johnny rolls his eyes. “That’s Donghyuck, by the way. Taeyong’s familiar.” Donghyuck’s bronze curls bounce as he stands and waves before making his way to the kitchen. “And the other one, the one with the brown hair and glasses, that’s Mark, also Taeyong’s familiar.”

“He has two of them?” Yuta asks. He hears the sound of a kettle from the kitchen. “What are their, uh, abilities?”

Johnny makes a noise like he’s impressed. “Wow, you know a lot already. Jaemin must have taught you,” he says. “We don’t know why Taeyong has two, but sometimes that just happens to witches. Mark’s good at pointing out details or alternate solutions to a problem that Taeyong might not notice, and Hyuck is the one who watches his back when he works, since Taeyong has a tendency to hyper-focus and forget about the rest of the world,” Johnny explains.

Donghyuck comes back into the room with two steaming mugs in his hands and offers one to Yuta. “Roasted oolong. Johnny mentioned a while ago that you like it,” he states, settling back into the armchair with his legs draped over the side. Yuta makes an _oooo_ noise as he sips the tea. “Taeyong has been babying us since we showed up. Mark accidentally called him ‘Dad’ so many times, it just stuck,” Donghyuck says, snickering into his mug.

“Didn’t know you were gonna be a father when you said you were marrying Yong,” Yuta jokes, narrowly managing to keep all of his tea in his mug when Johnny elbows him in the arm. “Chill, I don’t wanna spill all over your couch.”

Johnny laughs and nudges him more softly. “I did say we had some complications,” he grins. He turns to pout at Donghyuck. “Hey, where’s my tea?”

“What, are your legs broken? You know your way around the kitchen, you can get it yourself,” Donghyuck shrugs, sipping more of his tea. Johnny pouts some more but gets up to go the kitchen himself. Yuta doesn’t miss the way Donghyuck smirks into his drink.

“Sorry that took a while, we’re back,” Mark says, stepping back into the living room. He eyes Donghyuck in the armchair warily and looks at Yuta. “Did he say anything weird about me while I was gone?” he asks cautiously.

Yuta shrugs and sips his tea. “Just talked about why you call Taeyong ‘Dad.’” He snickers watching a light blush bloom on Mark’s cheeks as he turns to scowl at Donghyuck.

“What?” Donghyuck asks before Mark can say anything. “You’ve been calling him Dad since Yuta-ssi got here, he was bound to be curious,” he says innocently, placing his empty mug on the side table next to the armchair.

Mark rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, puffing his cheeks out. “Don’t think I haven’t heard you accidentally calling Johnny ‘Dad’ before, too,” Mark accuses.

“That is neither here nor there,” Donghyuck grumbles. He stands and gently lifts Mark’s glasses off of his face, setting them on the side table before turning to tackle Mark to the ground. In a swirl of violet and gold, the two boys are replaced by lion cubs, one slightly bigger with darker fur, the other smaller even for a cub, both of them reaching to bite each other’s ears or tumble the other over.

Johnny and Taeyong walk back into the room at the same time, Taeyong carrying a slip of paper in his hands. The two of them sigh simultaneously as Johnny side-steps the fighting cubs to take his place next to Yuta on the couch again. “What’s it about this time?” he asks Yuta, expression deadpan.

“Uh, calling you guys ‘Dad,’ I think,” Yuta replies, a bit dumbfounded as he continues to watch the cubs wrestle on the rug in front of him. It’s adorable, the little growling noises they’re making only increasing the rowdier they get, but Yuta is getting worried. “Are you gonna stop them?”

Johnny scoffs. “Last time I tried, my arm was almost ripped to shreds,” he says. Yuta winces at the image of Johnny’s arm in the middle of the two fighting cubs. “They’ll be fine, they just need to get it out of their system. If it were serious, they’d be fighting with their fists instead of as cubs.” Johnny takes a sip of his tea, casually watching the two cubs pull at each other’s ears with their teeth.

Yuta stares on as they roll around on the rug, swiping at each other’s faces. “Uh huh,” he says, not even noticing Taeyong take his seat in the armchair again.

Taeyong raises an eyebrow at Yuta. “You’re taking this all surprisingly easily,” he mentions, crossing his legs.

Yuta drags his eyes up to Taeyong, the continued growling an indication that the cubs are still wrestling. “I mean, I’ve been hanging out with Jaemin and Jungwoo for the past week. Jisung likes to change to a mouse because he likes sleeping like that, and Jaehyun stays as a dog while I’m around to intimidate me, so I guess I’m used to it,” he says, thinking about Jaehyun’s glare and Jisung sleeping soundly in the palm of his hand.

Taeyong and Johnny share a look with each other. “You’re pretty observant, to pick up on all that in one week,” Taeyong states.

The sounds of the growling tapers out until Yuta looks back down to see the two cubs panting, lying on their stomachs facing each other. “Am I?” Yuta asks. “I just thought I noticed those kinds of things because I’m old.” One of the cubs, the smaller one, stands and pads his way over to Taeyong, jumping up onto his lap and curling up comfortably. The other cub does the same with Johnny, albeit with more low residual growls, but Johnny rubs his head until the growling becomes purrs. Yuta takes a closer look at the cub next to him and finds relaxed, hazel eyes. “Why is Mark smaller than Donghyuck?” he asks.

“You can already tell them apart? You are observant,” Taeyong says, impressed, as his fingers scratch lightly behind Mark’s ears. “We don’t know why Mark is smaller, though. It’s just the way they are,” he coos, lifting Mark to cradle him in his arms. Mark doesn’t protest, only blinking slowly and yawning widely. “Oh, right,” Taeyong remembers. He maneuvers one arm to hold Mark against his body as he holds out a slip of paper with the other. Johnny takes it and passes it to Yuta, not pausing in his ministrations on Donghyuck’s head as he does so. “That’s an order form, for Jaemin. He’ll make something for you that you need,” Taeyong tells him, putting Mark back down into his lap.

Yuta wants so badly to reach over and pat Donghyuck’s fur, but he barely knows him, so he refrains. “I thought Jaemin couldn’t help me with the curses,” he says instead, eyeing the way Mark rests in Taeyong’s lap. It reminds him of Jisung.

“He can’t lift the curses, and unfortunately, neither can I. Neither of us specialize in that kind of thing,” Taeyong says, expression remorseful.

“What is your thing, then? Jaemin hasn’t really explained that,” Yuta asks, genuinely interested.

“Dreams,” Taeyong answers. “My specialty is in dream magic. Witches usually have two types of magic—you know how in university, you can have a major and a minor? It’s sort of like that, except the major is something innate and the minor is usually influenced by your environment or upbringing,” he explains. Mark stirs in his lap and yawns again, making Donghyuck yawn next to Yuta. Taeyong picks him up again and places him over his shoulder, scratching his neck rhythmically. “So I guess my ‘major’ is dream magic, and my ‘minor’ is twilight magic. I do my best work during twilight.” Next to Yuta, Johnny shifts to pick up Donghyuck and put him around his neck, leaving Donghyuck hanging around him, resting peacefully with his head and legs on either side of Johnny’s head.

Yuta stares at Johnny with the cub around his neck. “That’s neat,” he says, even though he doesn’t fully know what all that means. He makes a mental note to ask Jaemin about his magic later and scans his eyes over the paper in his hands. Most of it is in that language he can’t read, but there is one thing he can understand.

“Who’s Doyoung?” Yuta asks, eyes scrutinizing the paper to see if he can discern for himself, but he can’t read anything else.

When he looks back up, something in Taeyong’s eyes have changed, and Johnny is looking down at his lap, picking his nails. “He’s the one who can help you,” Taeyong says, voice softer, almost hesitant.

“Oh,” Yuta says. “I can’t just call him? Why do I need to take this to Jaemin?” he asks, holding the paper up between his fingers.

Taeyong bites his bottom lip. “Doyoung hasn’t worked in a couple of years, he hasn’t—” He pauses, searching for what to say. Next to Yuta, Johnny shifts in his seat, hand coming up to pet at Donghyuck’s head again. “He’s the only one who can help you with the curses, but he’s been out of commission for a while, so it might take some convincing,” Taeyong settles on, lips drawing a thin line. “I think he needs you as much as you need him,” he mumbles under his breath.

Yuta catches it, not understanding but nodding anyways. He holds the paper in both hands, eyes repeatedly being drawn to the name “Doyoung” amidst the foreign language surrounding it. “So… what should I do now?” he asks, lost but still hopeful.

Mark squirms in Taeyong’s hold and Taeyong sets him down onto his lap, where Mark curls up again. “First, bring that form to Jaemin. He’ll make something for you that you’ll need it to help you get to Doyoung, and Jaemin will teach you how to use it once he has it ready for you,” Taeyong explains. “Once you find him, you’ll need to convince him to help you. After that, it’ll be up to Doyoung.”

“You’re not going to let him know I’m coming?”

Taeyong shakes his head. “If he knew I referred you, he might not do it,” he ponders to himself, lips pursed. He looks up again, with a new look of resolve on his face. “But after hearing you talk about why you want this, I think he’ll be more compelled to help you. It’s been a while, but—I think you’re what he needs.” Mark and Donghyuck both crack an eye open a bit at that and share a look with each other. “If all else fails, tell him if he won’t do it, I will.”

Johnny and Yuta’s eyes both widen at the same time. “Taeyong—” Johnny starts, protest on the tip of his tongue. Mark and Donghyuck are both alert now, too, Mark pawing at Taeyong’s chest, mewling in opposition.

“I know, I know, bad idea,” Taeyong concedes, taking Mark’s paws into his hands and holding them. Donghyuck’s eyes are still slanted in concern at Taeyong, and Johnny’s eyebrows are furrowed. “It’s a bad idea, and Doyoung will think so, too,” he elaborates further. “I really will do my best to help if he says no, but I have a feeling he won’t,” he finishes, placing Mark’s paws down and back in his lap.

Yuta glances from Johnny to Taeyong apprehensively, but he nods, looking back to the paper in his hands. “So… just bring this to Jaemin?”

“Yeah, as soon as possible. You can go tomorrow, I know Jaemin will prioritize this over his other orders,” Taeyong says, soothing a now quiet Mark in his lap, hand petting over his fur lightly. He looks up and gives Yuta a gentle smile, something Yuta is more used to seeing from him, and it helps calm his nerves. “Everything will work out, Yuta,” Taeyong assures kindly. “Jaemin was right, fifty-two years still leaves enough time for everything to be undone, and Doyoung is good at what he does.” He lifts Mark into his arms again and cradles him against his chest. The light reflects off of the dark purple in Mark’s eye as he glances at Yuta. Taeyong pets his fur and looks affectionately down at Mark, and Yuta wishes he could remember what it felt like to look at someone so adoringly. He wants to feel that way again so badly.

Taeyong looks back up at Yuta, the smallest hint of doubt in his voice. “You’ll just have to convince him to help you.”

🌿🌿🌿

“My magic?” Jaemin asks, picking a white gardenia petal off of its stem and dropping it into a small glass bottle filled with other flower petals of all colors and sizes.

Yuta nods, following Jaemin around his shop as he walks through the room and picks more petals to place into his glass. “Yong told me yesterday that witches have two types of magic,” he says, watching Jaemin pick off a stem of white heather and delicately push it inside the bottle. “He said his magic is dream magic and twilight magic,” he tells Jaemin, remembering Taeyong’s words from the day before. “I wanted to know what yours is. If that’s okay,” he tacks on at the end.

Jaemin quirks a lopsided grin at Yuta and brings the bottle up to his face, turning it slowly to inspect its contents. “Guess,” he says to Yuta cheekily. He turns to Jisung, who’d been trailing closely to them, and asks, “Sungie, can you bring me Doyoung’s box?” Jisung nods attentively and disappears up the stairs into their apartment.

Yuta considers his question and turns his head around, sweeping the flowery room with his eyes, mostly for show. Jaemin scoffs lightly at his antics. “Something to do with flowers,” Yuta guesses after spending a moment humming sarcastically.

“How’d you know?” Jaemin asks, playing along for a moment. He smiles proudly at the bottle full of petals in his hand. “Yeah, flower magic is my secondary magic,” he answers.

“Secondary? Then what’s your first?” Yuta asks in surprise, certain that flower magic would be his primary form of magic.

“Creation,” Jaemin tells him. He picks the petal of a pink tulip to his left and closes his fist around it. Yuta watches as his irises turn a milky white shade before they return to their normal chestnut color just as quickly. When he opens his fist again, instead of the tulip petal, there’s a pink, gummy candy sitting in the middle of his palm. “I can make things with flowers,” Jaemin says, handing the candy to Yuta.

Yuta takes it, eyes blown wide with wonder. He pops the candy into his mouth and chews it in awe, the sweetness of it spreading on his tongue. “Cool,” he says around the candy. “What about Jungwoo?”

Jaemin freezes minutely. “Jungwoo—”

He’s interrupted by Jisung bouncing back down the stairs, a little wooden box in his hands. On the box, “Doyoung” is carved into the wood in small font, and Jisung hands it to Jaemin, who smiles gratefully. A flower head sits where a small lock would normally be, Yuta figures, and Jaemin presses his thumb against the yellow petals of the hawksbeard. His eyes turn white again, and the petals close in on themselves and separate from each other, floating to the ground as the lid of the box pops open. Jisung crouches down to the floor to retrieve each of the petals and place them in his hand one by one.

Inside the box, Yuta sees a handful of different flowers, all dried. Jaemin hums to himself in thought before reaching for the white jasmine that sits amongst the other flowers and pulls it out with delicate fingers. He snaps the top of the box back into place, and Yuta watches the petals in Jisung’s hand fly back to their place on the box, unfurling until the petals look untouched. Jisung takes the box again and turns back to the stairs to put the box away.

Yuta watches the boy bound up the stairs. “Do you have a box like that for all of your friends?” he asks Jaemin.

“Yeah, in case of emergencies and stuff like this. I should make one for you too, actually,” Jaemin answers with no further explanation. He gently pushes the jasmine inside of the bottle, carefully so that the brittle petals don’t fall apart, and beams at the mishmash of different flowers contained within the glass. “Almost done,” he tells Yuta.

Jisung returns from upstairs and takes his place next to Jaemin again. The two of them look at each other and nod, Jisung placing a hand on Jaemin’s shoulder. Yuta can swear he sees a gentle glimmer from the hand on his shoulder but averts his attention back to Jaemin, whose eyes turn a translucent white again as he tosses the glass into the air a few times. The bottle gets higher and higher with each toss, glowing with the same low light from Jisung’s hand, until it no longer comes back down. Yuta blinks at the air where the glass should be, looking around confusedly and wondering where it went.

Jaemin giggles at the bewilderment that must be evident on Yuta’s face and holds his fist out in front of him. He mouths a few indecipherable words silently, Jisung’s grip on his shoulder tightening until he lets go and the white gleam from his hand fades away. Jaemin’s eyes go back to normal, and he opens his hand, holding it out for Yuta to see.

In the middle of Jaemin’s hand is a single, dried, white rose petal, with yellow fraying at the edges. Jaemin purses his lips at the petal and sighs lightly through his nose, muttering a quiet, “Oh, Doyoung,” under his breath that Yuta barely manages to hear. Jaemin looks back up at Yuta and places the petal in a tiny plastic bag that Jisung hands him, sealing it up and pressing it into Yuta’s hand. 

“He’s kinda hard to get to, but this will help take you to where Doyoung is,” Jaemin explains. Yuta stares at the dry petal that now rests in his hand. He can’t help but think it looks sad.

“How?” he asks Jaemin, lifting the tiny plastic up to his face to inspect the petal closer. “And why did you send me to Taeyong if you could’ve just sent me to Doyoung yourself?” He keeps the tone of his voice curious instead of accusatory, knowing Jaemin must have had a reason. 

Jaemin stuffs his hands in his pockets. “All you need to do is kiss it and it’ll take you to him,” Jaemin explains. “It does most of the work for you. But it only works within a thirty-kilometer radius, so you’ll have to travel to the general area where Doyoung lives at the moment.” He shrugs his shoulders, eyes cast downwards. “And Taeyong knows Doyoung better than anyone. If Taeyong thinks it’s the right thing for you to see Doyoung, then I believe him. I just didn’t want to make that discernment by myself.” 

Yuta nods in understanding, then looks away from the petal to cock his head at Jaemin. “So where does Doyoung live?”

Jaemin grins apologetically in advance. “Gyeryongsan Park.” 

🌿🌿🌿

It’s only the next day that Yuta finds himself on a train to Gyeryongsan National Park. The ride is over two hours, and Yuta spends the entire time rubbing the plastic bag that holds the rose petal between his forefinger and thumb in anticipation.

Yuta has been to Gyeryongsan before, back when he was fresh out of high school and wanted a challenging hike as his graduation present from Taeil. It was summertime, then, and the hike they took was definitely a challenge that Yuta took in stride while Taeil complained about the heat. He ended up hiking the entire trail with Yuta instead of giving up, even though he threatened defeat a handful of times. Yuta laughed and offered him a helping hand each time. They hadn’t climbed the highest peak in the park, but Yuta remembers the view from their trail being gorgeous enough as it was.

Now, it’s the beginning of winter, and when Yuta arrives, there’s hardly anyone there to brave the cold hikes. He’s not surprised, considering the amount of snow lining the trees and the trails. Yuta himself is dressed comfortably, a long winter coat over his hoodie and joggers (with leg warmers underneath, because even though Yuta can’t freeze to death, he doesn’t want to take his chances).

Yuta enters the park and looks around him at his surroundings, so many different trails and bare trees littering his vision. There’s a map to his right and he walks up to it, pretending to study the trails. Instead, he opens his tiny plastic bag and pulls out the miniscule piece of paper that Jaemin left him.

 _“Take any of the trails and walk until you’re sure there’s no one in the area. Go off trail until you can’t see it anymore and kiss the petal. Be careful!”_ the paper reads in Jaemin’s neat handwriting. Yuta slips the paper back into the bag and puts the petal into his coat pocket. He picks a random trail on the map and gets started on his wintery hike.

He doesn’t have to hike long, considering there’s no one else on the same trail as him, but he walks half a kilometer to be safe anyways before stepping off the trail and carefully walking until the trail is fully out of his sight. He turns his head around, making sure there’s no one around to watch him, and takes the petal out of his pocket. With gentle fingers, he reaches into the plastic and pulls the dried petal out, pocketing the bag again.

Yuta feels a bit silly about the whole thing but figures he has nothing to lose, so he closes his eyes and lifts the brittle petal to his face, gently pressing his lips against it. When he opens his eyes and pulls the petal away from his lips, nothing’s changed. He squints at the petal warily, and it bristles in the cold wind, so Yuta’s hold on the rose petal tightens.

He blinks, and the petal disappears from his fingers.

He blinks again, and he no longer recognizes his environment.

Yuta’s eyes widen and he whips his head around, trying to see if he can spot anything familiar, but he’s in a completely different place than he was earlier. All around him there are bare trees, their branches covered in white snow, the snow on the ground looking equally as untouched. He has no idea where he is.

He’s about to take his phone out and call Jaemin or Taeyong for some sort of help, but in the corner of his eye he spots someone in the distance. With cautious steps, he begins walking towards them until the number of trees separating the two of them dwindles down to two or three. From where he stands, Yuta can start to make out more discernible features about the man he sees, and he stops in his tracks at the sight.

The person, still far enough away to have not noticed Yuta yet, is facing one of the snow-covered, bare trees and donning nothing but a slim turtleneck and grey sweats. He has a head of wavy, dark hair and lips a tender shade of pink that Yuta can’t help but stare at as the other says something that he can’t hear from this distance. Yuta watches as the tree in front of the man seems to shiver at something the other must have said, making Yuta gasp lightly.

Yuta makes a move to take another step towards him, but in a second something barrels into him, and he’s knocked flat onto his back, the wind leaving his lungs in one swift movement.

He tries to suck in a breath in his surprise, but a sudden weight on his chest stops him. When Yuta opens his eyes and tries to struggle against the pressure, he finds himself face to face with glaring amber eyes on a wolf that’s at least twice his weight. He looks down and feels more than sees the wolf’s paws pressing into his chest, its claws threatening to tear into him should he struggle any more. On the wolf’s back, the head of a small, black lynx appears over its shoulder, its amethyst eyes looking down at Yuta in intrigue. The tufts on the tips of the lynx’s ears twitch. 

Yuta opens his mouth to try to say something to the animals on him that must be someone’s familiars, but the pressure on his chest increases, making him sputter out air instead. The lynx leans farther down towards Yuta’s face and takes a few sniffs.

“Sicheng, who’s this?” Yuta hears someone say behind the wolf. He strains his head to the side and sees the man standing close now, eyeing the scene on the ground with disinterest. The wolf growls down at Yuta as an answer.

Yuta watches lavender swirl in the air behind the wolf until it’s replaced with a man, slightly shorter than the other, scrunching up his nose. “Human. He reeks of dark magic,” he says, his face twisting in distaste and running a hand through his silky, black hair, “but he also smells like Jaemin, and a little bit like Taeyong.”

The other hums in acknowledgement, eyes bored when he looks at Yuta, who’s starting to feel colder with the snow seeping into the back of his clothes. “Sicheng, I can take it from here.”

The wolf, Sicheng, growls lowly and steps slowly off of Yuta, finally giving him the chance to take a breath. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, but his back collides with the ground again as the man steps onto his chest with his shoe. Yuta winces with shock more than pain as the other lowers himself further down until he’s face to face with Yuta, his tired eyes boring into Yuta’s own. The foot on Yuta’s chest is replaced with the other’s hand pushing him deeper into the snow, and his irises turn a dark emerald as he speaks. “What business do you have here?” he mumbles bitterly.

Yuta feels something on his arms, and he looks to his sides to see tree branches reaching up from underneath the snow to wrap around his limbs and hold him to the ground. He looks back into the emerald eyes of the man above him and schools his expression into determination. “You’re Doyoung?” he asks back, voice level.

The other furrows his eyebrows. “I am,” he answers after a beat of silence. “Who are you?”

“Yuta,” he answers back. “Decades ago, I was cursed. I was told you could help me,” Yuta explains, as straight forward as he can. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears, determination threatening to give way to anxiety, but he holds his ground.

Doyoung’s face hovers inches above Yuta’s, and his green eyes glare coldly down at him. He scoffs lightly, his breath fanning over Yuta’s cheeks, and the branches on Yuta’s arms tighten. “Why should I?” Doyoung asks him, malice dripping from the question.

Yuta’s eyes tremble but his resolve remains steadfast. “I don’t know what else to do,” he whispers honestly, because there really isn’t a reason for Doyoung to help him. The two of them don’t know each other at all, and Yuta is only here out of a desperation he hasn’t been able to shake since Jaemin planted the seed of hope within him. Yuta doesn’t know Doyoung—what he _does_ know is that he wants to be free. “I just want to be _me_ again.” His voice shakes at the admission.

When Doyoung doesn’t answer back and the silence rings on for too long, Yuta quietly speaks up again. “Taeyong said if you won’t help me, then he will.”

Something in Doyoung’s expression cracks at that, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance, sitting up. In the new position, Yuta’s head clears up enough to register Doyoung straddling his hips with his hand still on Yuta’s chest. “Fucking hell, Yong,” Doyoung mutters to himself. He tilts his head up and closes his eyes, eyebrows drawn together in thought before he abruptly snarls in frustration, his hand lifting up only to slap Yuta’s chest harshly. 

Yuta yelps at the sudden movement while Doyoung stands to his feet. The branches on Yuta’s arms recede back into the earth, and Yuta gingerly moves himself into a sitting position in the snow, rubbing the sensitive skin of his wrists. He looks up and sees Doyoung’s back to him, walking away. Yuta quickly rises to his feet, a protest on his lips, but Doyoung says, “Just follow me,” before he gets a chance.

So Yuta shuts his mouth and scrambles to follow, trailing behind Doyoung a couple of feet instead of walking beside him. To Yuta’s left is the man with the purple eyes, and the wolf walks low in their shadows behind them, glaring and growling at random intervals.

The man next to Yuta turns his head around and sighs. “Chill, Sicheng. If Yuta had bad intentions, I would know, and he would already be dead.” The glint in his eye as he glances at Yuta is dangerous. “But it’s fine. He’s telling the truth,” he finishes telling the wolf casually. He turns back to Yuta, the threat in his eyes vanished and replaced with openness instead. “I’m Ten, and that’s—” he jerks a thumb behind them, “—that’s Sicheng. Don’t worry, he’ll open up soon enough as long as you don’t try to hurt Doyoung,” Ten says, flashing Yuta a smile.

Yuta feels simultaneously more at ease and troubled at Ten’s words. “Why would I want to hurt Doyoung?” he asks.

Ten shoves his hands in the back pockets of his skinny jeans and looks forward at Doyoung’s back. “You wouldn’t be the first one, is all,” Ten explains offhandedly. “That’s why Sicheng is the way he is right now. But I can tell you’re not dangerous, so no need to worry about us.”

“Jisung could tell I wasn’t a danger, too.” Yuta shivers minutely at the cold wetness he feels against his back, the snow having long melted into his clothes and the wind making him acutely aware of the low temperature. He feels a light jacket drop around his shoulders, and he instinctively pulls it closer against himself. It doesn’t help much, but it at least keeps the snowy wind from hitting his wet back. A man with amber eyes around the same height as Doyoung now stands to his right, his hands in the pockets of his sweats, avoiding Yuta’s gaze.

“Ten and Jisung are similar in terms of what they’re good at,” the man Yuta can only assume is Sicheng says, voice deep. “Ten’s more sensitive, more aware, so when he says you don’t have bad intentions, he’s always right.” His eyes flicker down towards Yuta with a hint of sheepishness before he turns them away again. “Sorry about earlier. I have to protect Doyoung,” he mumbles apologetically, embarrassed.

Yuta pulls the jacket tighter around himself and shakes his head. “It’s fine, I get it. I think Jaehyun still hates me anyways, so.”

That manages to crack a grin from Sicheng. “He’ll come around,” he says softly, grinning to himself.

Yuta is about to say something about how Jaehyun’s scowls tell a different story, but he realizes then that Doyoung has stopped walking. The air around Doyoung’s hands swirl a misty green, and soon the exterior of a small house begins to reveal itself where there was once empty space. Yuta stares on as more of the house appears in front of him, first the dark brown, paneled roof, then the white, wooden overhang above the front door with purple bougainvillea intertwined with green ivy growing in between the wood planks. The purple of the bougainvillea contrasts charmingly with the creamy yellow shade of the house’s outside, and the door is a pale olive color, not yet worn by the weather.

Doyoung is reaching for the doorknob before the rest of the house is even finished coming fully into view. The green mist swirls around his hand again when it makes contact with the handle, and the whole door glimmers softly, opening itself up. Doyoung makes his way into the house, and when Yuta looks between Ten and Sicheng, they nod at him to do the same.

Stepping into the house feels like stepping into another world, but only because Yuta witnessed how the house came into being; the actual interior of the house is surprisingly normal, comfortable. The walls are the same creamy shade of yellow as the outside, if not the slightest bit paler in color, and the front door opens up into a kitchen that doubles as a living room. To the right are counters and a minty green refrigerator along with other kitchen necessities, like an oven and a stove. In the middle of the room is a wooden, round eating table that resembles the one in Jaemin’s apartment, and to the left is a couch and an armchair that sit in front of a tiny, black fireplace with a TV mounted on the wall above it. The large window by the fireplace has the same pillowed area in it that Jaemin’s shop has, covered by thin, white curtains. Yuta can tell that it’s used often by the state of disarray the blankets are in.

The homey feeling the room gives off tells Yuta that it was purposefully designed to comfortably fit three or four people in it, despite its relative smallness. Yuta doesn’t have time to relax before Doyoung pulls out a chair for himself at the eating table and gestures for Yuta to sit across from him. Yuta obeys, watching Sicheng and Ten take their places standing beside Doyoung as Yuta sits across from them. He doesn’t make any move to peel off his wet clothes, only grips Sicheng’s jacket closer to himself while he waits for Doyoung to say something.

Eventually, after a few painstakingly long moments of Doyoung glaring at him, he finally speaks up. “You said you were cursed? Ten, what’s he got?” he asks, exasperation leaking through his voice.

Ten walks around the table and closes the short distance between himself and Yuta, placing his hand lightly on Yuta’s jaw, making his breath hitch. Ten’s fingers trail down his jaw delicately until he reaches Yuta’s chin, then his hand recedes. Yuta pouts at the smirk Ten now wears as Ten relays, “Immortality. And…” Ten lifts his hand to his face and sniffs, eyebrows raising in thinly veiled interest. “He’s loveless. His love was stolen.”

“How many years?” Doyoung asks.

“Fifty-two,” Yuta and Ten answer simultaneously. Yuta stares at Ten in disbelief. “How the hell did you know?” he asks incredulously.

Ten’s purple eyes flash mischievously at him. “Sharp senses,” he answers ambiguously with a grin. He takes his place next to Doyoung again, leaning his weight on the chair Doyoung sits on. “He’s not that old, only seventy. Cursed when he was eighteen. Classic,” Ten says, mumbling the last part.

“Aw, you think I’m not old?” Yuta bats his eyelashes at Ten.

Ten’s face scrunches up and he sticks his tongue out. “Gross,” he says while Sicheng breathes out a laugh.

Doyoung sighs and rests his elbow on the table, settling his chin in his upturned palm, fingers framing the side of his face. “Taeyong really said he would help you if I didn’t?”

Yuta nods.

Doyoung rolls his head back and pinches his eyes closed, barely holding back a loud groan that comes out as a breathy squeak instead, before he snaps his head back and glowers at Yuta. “Alright, Yuta, here’s the thing,” Doyoung starts. “Taeyong would have no clue how to help you out and would probably die trying, or accidentally kill you instead, so I’m going to do it.” Yuta’s eyes light up instantly as he gasps, but Doyoung continues. “I’ll do it, but only on _my_ conditions. No compromises,” Doyoung states decidedly. Yuta nods his head excitedly, so Doyoung speaks again. “The first is: you have to do as I say.”

 _Easy enough,_ Yuta thinks.

“The second is that you have to stay here for about a month.”

Yuta blinks. “A month?” he asks, perplexed. “Why so long?”

Doyoung leans his head in his hand again. “The process of lifting the curses spans multiple days, at least a couple of weeks. Keeping you here for a month would be the safest.” He nods like he’s reassuring himself of his own words.

Yuta’s eyebrows draw together. “But I have work,” he says dumbly.

“Then get out,” Doyoung says without missing a beat.

“Wait, wait,” Yuta amends hurriedly, shaking his head. He chews his bottom lip and figures he can work something out with Johnny and the old man—at least Johnny would understand and help him make up some excuse. “I can stay,” he decides, nodding at Doyoung. “But I don’t have clothes or anything,” he realizes.

Doyoung waves him off. “We have extra stuff for you. I’m sure Ten’s clothes will fit you just fine.”

“Hey, why am I the one that has to share my clothes?” Ten huffs.

“You think Yuta would fit into mine or Doyoung’s clothes?” Sicheng quirks an eyebrow at Ten. “Look how small he is.”

Yuta frowns and opens his mouth to protest, but Doyoung interrupts him by standing and yawning widely, stretching an arm over his head. “Ten, get the tiny old man some new clothes. Wouldn’t want him catching a cold.” He rubs his eyes sleepily despite it being mid-afternoon.

“Not that small,” Yuta pouts childishly. The mention of a cold reminds him of the wet clothes clinging to his backside, and he visibly shivers in his chair.

Ten turns and walks to the other side of the couch, lifting the cushions to reveal storage that’s filled with clothes. “It’s okay Yuta, the sooner you accept that you and I are both just overgrown children, the easier it gets,” Ten says, digging out a black shirt and grey sweats. He tosses them at Yuta, who catches them in his arms. “You can dig around in here for any other clothes, just don’t get them dirty,” Ten tells him, fitting the couch cushions back into place. “Seriously, don’t get them dirty,” he emphasizes with a pointed look towards Yuta.

Yuta gives Ten a thumbs up and watches Doyoung retreat towards a door on the opposite wall from the house’s entrance. His hand pauses over the doorknob before he turns back around. “We’ll start the healing process tomorrow morning. Until then, don’t talk to me.” He opens the door and walks in, promptly closing it behind him, leaving him out of sight and Yuta in the room with Ten and Sicheng.

“Healing process?” Yuta mumbles to himself. He shrugs Sicheng’s coat off and places it on the table, followed by his own coat that’s been soaked through, hanging it on the back of his chair.

“Yeah, you need to heal,” Ten says from the couch, startling Yuta by answering him. Sicheng, having become a wolf without Yuta even noticing, joins Ten on the couch, laying his head on Ten’s lap. Ten’s hand automatically moves to scratch in between Sicheng’s ears. “Once dark magic has lived inside of you long enough, it starts to harm you. Even if you can’t die, it can damage your soul, so you need to be healed. Good thing you found us when you did! I’ve heard having a dead soul in a physical body fucking sucks.” Ten turns his head to the side to glance at Yuta behind the couch. “Also, you’re free to strip in here, but the bathroom’s there. Extra toiletries and all that in there, too.” He jabs a thumb at a door that’s next to the one Doyoung entered while Sicheng huffs in mild aversion. “Sicheng thinks you should change in the bathroom instead of out here.”

Yuta listens, closing the bathroom door behind him and promptly changing out of his wet clothes and into Ten’s, whose clothes smell like ginseng and the sweet scent of tea olive. He sighs when he’s done, letting his back hit the door as he slumps his shoulders, the exhaustion from the day beginning to catch up to him. He turns his head towards the wall that connects to what he assumes is Doyoung’s bedroom and stares at the cream colored wall as if he would be able to see what Doyoung was up to if he stared hard enough.

He only breathes out again after he’s stared at the wall for a few more moments and picks up his phone. Dialing Johnny’s number, all he can do is hope that Johnny will help him get out of work for the next month while Yuta “heals.”

The phone rings in his ear, and Yuta clutches his chest, holding back a giddy smile.

He’ll finally be able to love again.


	2. our future bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"feel now, my warmth of red, i whisper there as you sleep // a gentle song of hope"_

Fortunately, Johnny and Yuta were able to solve Yuta’s work debacle; by sheer force of luck, Johnny informed Yuta that the shop owner’s grandson was coming into the city for the holidays and that he would be able to cover Yuta’s shifts. Yuta thanks the universe with every cell in his body for the kindness of his boss and the timing of the circumstances.

Unfortunately for Yuta, it’s now 11 AM, and Doyoung is still asleep.

Yuta had heeded Doyoung’s words from the day before: _“We’ll start the healing process tomorrow morning. Until then, don’t talk to me.”_ Yuta has been awake for four hours, and the only other person in the house currently awake is Sicheng, who’s still rubbing his eyes drowsily after shifting back into his human form. He sits hunched over on the pillowed ledge in the window, Ten still curled up and sleeping soundly next to him. Ten sleeps as a lynx, his black fur shining and glossy in the morning sun.

Yuta sits up on the couch he slept on the night before, leg bouncing up and down impatiently. He has contemplated getting up and knocking on Doyoung’s door about five times at this point, always returning back to the couch and deciding to wait it out, lest he frustrate Doyoung and get sent home prematurely.

Sicheng finishes wiping the sleep out of his eyes and looks at Yuta in amusement while Yuta thinks this is the greatest test of his patience in all of his seventy years of living. He’s saved from having to wait any longer when the door to Doyoung’s room clicks open and Doyoung walks out of it, eyelids heavy with drowsiness. His clothes are comfortable, only casual sweats and a thin shirt, and his dark hair is straight, the curls from yesterday nowhere to be seen.

“Morning,” Yuta says as soon as he lays eyes on Doyoung, shooting him a bright smile. “I’m ready.”

Doyoung blinks down at him before he looks away. “You’re really… not,” he mutters.

Yuta is given no time to respond before Doyoung is opening the door and stepping outside the house with no coat or shoes.

It’s Yuta’s turn to blink at the door. “Isn’t he cold?” he asks Sicheng.

Sicheng grins at him as he leans back, one of his hands resting on the black fur of Ten’s head. “He won’t be long,” he assures.

Yuta’s glad that Sicheng is right and that Doyoung walks back into the house some five minutes later, hands full of plants he doesn’t recognize. He dumps them on the kitchen counter and fishes a pot out from one of the cupboards, placing it on the stove and turning on the flame.

“Sit,” Doyoung orders without turning back, pointing to the kitchen table in back of him, so Yuta obeys and sits in the same chair from yesterday, facing the couch. He turns his head around every so often to watch Doyoung throw miscellaneous things into the pot, only to witness them somehow liquefy with a few mumbled words from Doyoung that Yuta can’t decipher.

“Where did you get those?” he asks Doyoung as he watches another plant turn to a silvery liquid in the pot.

Doyoung picks up the handle and moves the pot around in circles to distribute all the liquid evenly. “Outside,” he deadpans, making Yuta frown.

He hears Ten, who must have woken up at some point, snicker from where he and Sicheng now sit on the couch. When Yuta turns his head back around to pout at Ten, he finds the two of them giggling quietly into their hands. An unfamiliar sense of uneasiness creeps its way through his chest.

After another short five minutes, Doyoung places a bowl of liquid on the table. It’s somehow completely clear in color, and Yuta would have thought the bowl to be empty had he not seen tiny ripples of movement in the substance in front of him. Doyoung sits at the table, across from Yuta, and tells him, “Drink it.” He pushes the bowl across the table so that it sits in front of Yuta, the colorless fluid staring up at him.

Yuta’s immediate reaction is to recoil violently. He jumps back and out of his seat, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor grating his ears, and he only just manages to suppress the vehement urge to hurl the bowl back at Doyoung. The stench of the liquid stings his nose, and something ugly rears its head deep in Yuta’s core that threatens to bubble out of his throat. “What the fuck _is_ that,” he hisses in disgust. He grows scared of the things that he feels, unfiltered, pure hatred at the liquid in the bowl racing through his veins.

Doyoung furrows his eyebrows and purses his lips at the reaction. “It’s that bad?” he asks under his breath to himself. He focuses his attention back to Yuta and hardens his expression. “This is your cure. You have to drink it, and it has to stay down for it to work.”

Yuta swallows roughly at the idea of drinking this thing that he hates, but he doesn’t know why. “Why is it grossing me out so much?” he murmurs to Doyoung.

“It’s the dark magic in you. It’s scared,” Doyoung explains, expression not letting up for a second. “This is how it protects itself so that it can keep living inside you. The potion is actually odorless, but the dark magic makes it seem like it’s repulsive.” He cocks his head to the side slightly. “What does it smell like to you?” he inquires curiously.

“Rotting,” Yuta answers instantly. The longer he stares at the bowl, the angrier he becomes, but not of his own accord. “Rotting meat.”

Doyoung hums and shrugs, sitting back in his chair. “Sounds bad,” he states, no trace of sympathy in his voice. “So, what’ll it be? You either drink it,” Doyoung drums his fingers against the table, “or let the dark magic win and live forever like this.” 

Yuta grits his teeth and feels his jaw clench at the proposition. _Don’t drink it,_ he hears something tell him from somewhere in his head. _You’re fine like this. Don’t drink it._

His hand balls up into a fist at his side and his nails dig painfully into his palm as he stares at the bowl of liquid in front of him.

He hears it again. _Don’t drink it._

Yuta lets out a frustrated growl and swipes the bowl off of the table, drinking the foul liquid and depleting the bowl of its contents in seconds. It feels like needles going down his throat, but he doesn’t stop until there’s none left. He slams the bowl back onto the table and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. His mouth tastes filthy. Behind Doyoung, he sees Sicheng and Ten sitting by the fireplace where Ten grumbles, “Damn, he really did it,” and hands Sicheng a few bills that Sicheng pockets smugly. “But I don’t think he’ll keep it down,” Ten says with a smirk, turning to Sicheng who returns his grin and shakes his hand for another bet. It makes Yuta more determined not to throw the liquid back up even though that voice in him is telling him to.

Yuta hears Doyoung make a small noise of acknowledgement and turns his attention back to him. “Not bad,” Doyoung says, impassive. He stands from his chair and walks around the table back to the counter, pouring Yuta a hot drink of some sort from a clear teapot into a mossy green tea cup. The liquid is pale lilac with swirls of sky blue, and when Doyoung holds it out towards him, Yuta smells ginger and chamomile.

But he’s hesitant to take it after the last thing that Doyoung made him drink, making Doyoung sigh. He holds out the drink closer to Yuta and tells him, “This will help settle your stomach and nerves. I promise it’s not disgusting.” To prove it, he brings the cup to his lips and takes a tiny sip then brings it back down and offers it to Yuta again. “Drink it slowly.”

Yuta accepts it this time, warming his hands around the cup. “Ooh, indirect kiss,” he teases jokingly before deciding to take a sip, ignoring the way Doyoung scoffs and rolls his eyes. He’s relieved to find that Doyoung was right—the drink hardly tastes of anything at all despite the scents Yuta picks up, but there’s a subtle undertone of spearmint now lining his tongue instead of decaying meat. The soothing effect of the drink is instant, Yuta’s stomach and unfamiliar anger simmering into nothing only to be replaced with the feeling of comfort instead.

Doyoung watches him for a moment then turns back to the counter. “Keep drinking that for now while I make breakfast,” he tells Yuta.

“Lunch at this point,” Yuta grumbles bitterly as he keeps sipping his drink. It calms him further with each sip, making it hard for Yuta not to chug the drink and burn his esophagus.

“Do you want food or not, Mr. Attitude?” Doyoung asks without turning around.

Yuta pouts and slumps into his chair, hiding his face in his cup. “Yes, sir,” he mumbles. He looks up in time to watch Sicheng and Ten walk into the bathroom together. “Uhh…”

“What?” The two of them hear the bathroom door click shut, and Doyoung goes back to preparing food. “Oh, they shower together to save time,” he explains. “They got tired of waiting for each other to finish.”

“You don’t join them?”

Doyoung scoffs. “Have you seen that shower? It barely fits two as it is. I’ll stick to waiting for my turn.” He cracks some eggs into a bowl and beats them, adding some sugar and soy sauce into it before pouring it into a pan on the stove. Yuta finds comfort in the familiarity of food he can identify and relaxes into his chair, continuing to sip on the drink in his hands.

He doesn’t realize he was beginning to nod off until he smells food in front of him and blinks awake. There’s rolled eggs and spicy rice cake on the table with some pickled vegetables in a small plate. Sicheng and Ten are sitting on either side of him, their hair still wet from their shower, and Doyoung sits across from him again. He fills an empty plate with food and passes it to Yuta, who clambers to set his cup down on the table and accept the plate.

“You get sleepy so easily,” Ten comments, filling up his own plate.

Sicheng does the same, piling food onto his plate and stealing some off of Ten’s just to smirk playfully at the glare he gets. “He’s been awake for a while, that’s why,” he tells Ten.

“For how long?” Ten asks around a mouthful of egg.

Yuta shrugs and pops a pickled carrot into his mouth. “Woke up around 7.”

Doyoung looks up at that, pausing with a spoonful of rice midway to his mouth. “You were awake that early?” he asks.

Yuta nods, chewing on his vegetables and picking up some egg. “It’s around the time I normally wake up.” He stuffs the egg into his mouth and savors the light, sweet flavor. “These are really good.”

Doyoung doesn’t say anything, only purses his lips and sets his spoon back down. His eyebrows furrow like he’s upset by something and Yuta opens his mouth to ask, but doesn’t get very far. “I didn’t know you were awake that early,” Doyoung says under his breath. “My morning is… sort of late.”

“You don’t _have_ a morning, you would’ve woken up past noon if you could’ve today,” Ten teases, poking Doyoung’s cheek with the clean end of his chopstick.

Sicheng reaches over the table to steal another vegetable off of Ten’s plate. “You’re no better, Ten. You wake up late and take a nap every four hours.” He tosses the stolen vegetable into his mouth and sticks his tongue out at Ten’s deadpan expression.

“I’m a _cat,_ that’s what we do,” Ten retaliates. “Dogs wouldn’t get it.”

“I’m a wolf, not a dog!”

The two bicker back and forth while Yuta glances between them in amusement. He catches Doyoung’s eyes from across the table and cocks his head to the side at his apologetic expression. “Sorry I made you wait so long this morning,” Doyoung mutters regretfully underneath the bickering from Ten and Sicheng.

Yuta is taken aback by the apology but quickly shakes his head. He pops another egg roll into his mouth and smiles around it. “No harm no foul,” he tells Doyoung, no longer feeling resentful. “I’ll consider the good food a consolation.”

For the first time, he watches Doyoung grin down thankfully. “Okay,” he answers, continuing to eat his food with the ambiance of Ten and Sicheng quarreling in the background.

Yuta chews his egg thoughtfully, washing it down with that calming drink from earlier.

He wouldn’t mind seeing Doyoung smile again.

🌿🌿🌿

After four days of the same—drinking what feels like a bowl of needles and what smells like a corpse every morning—Yuta starts getting bored. On the morning of his fifth day on the mountain, Yuta wakes up at 10 AM (having learned from his first day) and ends up following Doyoung outside an hour later instead of waiting for him inside like he normally does.

The cold air immediately makes itself known and Yuta shivers against it, his bare feet in the snow quickly going numb. He shuts the door behind himself anyways and follows Doyoung further out into the snow, reveling in the clear skies despite the frigid air.

Doyoung turns around and raises an eyebrow at him. “Need something?” he asks, obviously wondering what Yuta is doing outside with him. The sun hits his eyes in such a way that make them appear honey-colored instead of their usual umber, his long eyelashes fanning over his cheekbones when he blinks.

Yuta’s known from the start, but that doesn’t quell the stunning features that Doyoung possesses. “You’re beautiful,” he tells Doyoung, like it’s a fact, because Yuta thinks it is. “I just wanted to see what you do out here in the morning,” he answers. He still doesn’t know where Doyoung finds all of his plants in the five minutes he spends outside every day when they wake up.

Doyoung looks caught off guard, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweats and turns away. “It’s cold. Don’t freeze,” he murmurs, turning to walk away from the house again.

Yuta doesn’t have to follow him for long, as Doyoung stops at a nearby tree. “Give me some space,” he tells Yuta, who steps back obediently. Doyoung gently places his hand on the tree, and it shimmers the same shade of emerald green that his eyes turn. A few words fall from Doyoung’s lips at the tree in that language that Yuta still can’t decipher.

Just like the day Yuta first saw Doyoung, the tree shivers in response to his words, and Yuta watches in fascination as the tree continues to seemingly respond to Doyoung the more he talks to it. The snow around Doyoung’s feet lifts gradually, swirling in the air around him, until the ground around him is exposed enough to show a few plants sprouting from the dirt. The snow in the air by Doyoung dissipates into nothing, and his arm falls back to his side, eyes back to brown. Something falls from the tree, bouncing off of Doyoung’s head, making him yelp in shock.

He turns back to the tree and glares, but it looks more like a pout to Yuta. “That wasn’t very nice,” he grumbles under his breath. The branches of the trees look like they shimmy in laughter.

Yuta approaches Doyoung then, crouching down and picking up the thing that fell onto Doyoung’s head. It looks like a white rose to Yuta, its petals not yet bloomed. “You use this in the thing you make me, right? What is it?” he asks, pulling the petals back to try and peer inside.

Doyoung slaps his hand and Yuta squawks. “It’s a yucca flower bud. Don’t pull the petals off, it needs to be intact when it goes into the remedy,” Doyoung reprimands. “Help me pick the rest of this,” he says, gesturing to the other plants in the dirt.

The two of them spend a few minutes gathering the usual ingredients together, Doyoung patiently telling Yuta about each one. They both stand and walk back to the house together, arms full of miscellaneous plants that Yuta proudly relays back to Doyoung.

“So, is your magic like Jaemin’s? Create stuff from, uh, nature, in your case?” Yuta asks Doyoung, realizing he hasn’t bothered to inquire until now.

Doyoung looks at Yuta, surprise written across his face. “Close, actually. Try again.” They walk into the house together and dump the plants onto the counter, Yuta falling into his chair at the table while Doyoung gets to work.

“Come on, throw me a bone. I don’t know anything about magic,” Yuta whines, stretching his arms across the table.

Sicheng comes from the couch to join him at the table. He rests his head in his hand sleepily. “You were on the right track with the nature thing,” he says somewhat helpfully.

Yuta ponders this for a moment. “Is nature your, uh… first magic? Big magic? Or something?” Yuta tries uncertainly.

“Ding ding,” Ten sounds from the couch. His head lies on the armrest and lolls to the side to face Yuta. “He doesn’t create from nature, nature creates for him,” Ten further clarifies.

“If you ask nicely,” Doyoung adds, throwing the last of the ingredients into the pot. “Nature will do anything for me as long as I ask nicely and know how to have control.” He pours the clear liquid into a bowl, and Yuta grimaces just looking at it. The bowl is placed in front of him along with his mossy green teacup of comfort tea (as Yuta has taken to calling it).

Yuta has a staring contest with the clear substance, dreading the feeling of swallowing barbs and tasting death. “So what’s your secondary magic, then?” he asks, stalling.

Doyoung hums. “Drink the medicine first, then I’ll tell you,” he offers.

Yuta huffs but takes the bowl into his hand anyways and swiftly drinks the liquid in one go, feeling and tasting the same as it always does. He immediately takes a swig of the comfort tea to try and combat the ugly, sludgy feelings in his chest, and ends up burning his tongue. He winces in pain and puts the teacup back down onto the table.

“Slowly, Yuta,” Doyoung says, taking the bowl from him. “Any different today?” he asks, sympathy subtly gracing his features.

Yuta sighs out, weary, as he reaches for the tea again. “The same.” He sips on the drink unhurriedly this time, feeling the effects more. He breathes out through his nose and lets the calm wash over him. “So, what’s your other magic?” he asks Doyoung with a grin.

Doyoung rinses out the bowl in the sink and looks at Yuta over his shoulder when he’s done. “Dark magic,” he answers.

Yuta stares at him. “You mean the stuff that’s in me? _That’s_ the magic you specialize in?” he asks in disbelief.

“He doesn’t cast it,” Sicheng explains, jumping to Doyoung’s defense. “He can manipulate it and redirect it, but he doesn’t use it, not like the person who cursed you.” From his place on the couch, Ten examines his nails, side-eyeing Yuta with a blank expression.

Yuta furrows his eyebrows. “You choose your secondary magic, don’t you? Why dark magic?” he asks Doyoung, who’s busying himself heating up soup on the stove.

“Not everyone gets to choose, but I did,” Doyoung says. “I chose dark magic to help people like you.” A beat of silence. “To try to help people like you,” he rectifies quietly.

The soup boils hotly on the stove. “Can’t that be dangerous?” Yuta asks carefully.

Doyoung turns off the gas and lifts the pot of soup onto the counter to let it cool. He turns around, the loose collar of his shirt falling enough for Yuta to catch the tail end of an old scar on his collarbone. Doyoung huffs out a small laugh and lifts a hand to the side of his neck. “Yes,” he grins at Yuta.

🌿🌿🌿

Jungwoo and Jaehyun visit halfway through the second week of Yuta’s stay with Doyoung.

It’s just after lunch and Yuta is petulant as he washes the dishes when there’s a knock at the door. Barely a second later, Jungwoo swings the door open, shouting, “Doyoungie, I’m here!” The grin on his face turns into surprise when he sets his eyes on Yuta at the sink. “Oh, Yuta, I forgot Jaeminnie said you would be here. Hello,” he waves happily.

“Hi, Jungwoo,” Yuta says, waving a soapy hand in his direction. He looks over Jungwoo’s shoulder and sees Jaehyun in the doorway. “Hi Jaehyun,” he offers, knowing all he’ll get is a scowl in return.

But Jaehyun just purses his lips and gives him a slight nod of his head. He doesn’t get the chance to say anything before Sicheng comes out of nowhere, turning into a wolf with a swirl of amber and barreling into Jaehyun, landing the two of them back outside. Somewhere in the process, Jaehyun also became an Akita again, and the two of them yelp excitedly with each other in the snow as they push each other over.

Meanwhile, Yuta’s eyes are sparkling and wide, still reeling from not being glared at by Jaehyun. Ten appears by his side and laughs, watching Sicheng and Jaehyun tussle with each other through the open door. “Sicheng told you he’d come around,” he mentions to Yuta. He turns to Jungwoo, who’s now seated himself on the couch by the fireplace, and tells him, “Doyoung is just getting some things ready for you, he’ll be out soon.”

Jungwoo nods and makes himself comfortable on the couch. Yuta looks away from Sicheng and Jaehyun playing in the snow to continue doing the dishes. “What’s Jungwoo doing here?” he asks Ten.

“He comes once or twice a week to get training from Doyoung,” Ten explains. “Usually magic training and knowledge is passed down from parents and family, but Doyoung is the one who teaches Jungwoo. It’s been about a year.” Ten glances over his shoulder at Jungwoo scrolling on his phone. “He’s been making good progress,” he says, the slightest hint of fondness found in the sentence. “If the weather gets kinda wild outside, don’t worry about it, it’s just Jungwoo training.”

Yuta makes a noise of understanding, scrubbing a particularly stubborn stain out of the dish in his hands. “Is that Jungwoo’s magic? Weather?”

Ten nods. “His magic is the type that’s easily fed by emotion, so Doyoung helps train him to control it even when he’s really angry or sad. He’s gotten a lot better!” Ten smiles proudly.

Yuta’s eyes gleam with curiosity. “That sounds really cool,” he says.

“You can watch me train if you want!” Jungwoo chirps, suddenly behind Yuta.

The dish in Yuta’s hands slips out of his grasp, and he struggles to catch it before it crashes and shatters. When he has a firm grip on the dish again, he turns his head around towards Jungwoo and groans. “Fuck, Woo, don’t scare me like that,” he breathes out, putting a soapy hand over his wildly beating heart. “But can I watch you? Is that okay?” he asks, eyes wide at the possibility.

“No, you’ll just distract him,” Doyoung says, emerging from his bedroom. “He can barely even focus when Ten is around, he doesn’t need another distraction.”

Ten protests loudly, shouting “I think I’m a great distraction” while Jungwoo waddles up to Doyoung. “Please, Doyoung hyung?” he pleads cutely, eyes going wide. “Let Yuta watch, he really wants to. Think of it as an exercise in focus for me,” he bargains, pouting at Doyoung.

“Yeah, just a focus exercise,” Yuta says to Doyoung, beaming innocently and playing along.

Doyoung looks between Jungwoo and Yuta and finally sighs, giving in. “You have to swear you won’t distract him.” He frowns at Yuta, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “And _you_ especially. Be good today,” he emphasizes, pointing his finger at Ten.

Ten rolls his eyes as Yuta chuckles at the admonishment. “We’ll be good, we promise,” Yuta says, throwing an arm around Ten’s shoulders. Ten nods along and says “yeah, yeah” half-heartedly, leaning into Yuta’s side.

Doyoung looks at the two of them for a moment, his expression softening just a bit. He walks past them towards the door, Jungwoo following after him. “I’ll hold you to that.” He stands in the doorway and gestures for Yuta and Ten to follow. “Let’s start.”

Hours later, everyone is gathered in the living room together, the TV playing a random nature documentary on low volume. Sicheng naps in the armchair with his neck against the armrest while his legs dangle over the other side, Ten sleeping soundly on his stomach, curled up in his lynx form. Doyoung is on the couch with Jungwoo’s head in his lap as Jungwoo naps to the soft sounds of the TV. Jaehyun, who’s still a dog, gets up from the floor in front of the couch to walk over to where Yuta sits back in the pillowed window ledge. He jumps up onto the ledge and curls up, making himself comfortable, placing his head gently in Yuta’s lap and immediately falling asleep.

Yuta looks up and down frantically from Jaehyun to Doyoung, trying not to scream. He hesitantly hovers a hand over Jaehyun’s head in between his ears and looks to Doyoung for guidance. Doyoung only breathes out a laugh through his nose and nods his head, so Yuta slowly lowers his hand onto Jaehyun’s fur, petting it lightly. Jaehyun burrows his head closer towards Yuta, and Yuta has to cover his mouth with his free hand to keep from letting any noise out.

Doyoung grins in mild amusement at the scene on the window ledge. “You really wanted Jaehyun to like you, huh?” he asks softly, so as not to wake anyone in the room.

Yuta bites his bottom lip and nods, continuing to pet Jaehyun’s fur. “I figured he was only wary of me because he thought I was a threat to Jungwoo,” Yuta explains quietly. “It didn’t sit right, because I’d never do anything to hurt Woo. I just wanted Jaehyun to know that.” He slowly moves his fingers into the fur of Jaehyun’s neck, and the dog’s tail wags minutely in his sleep. Yuta keeps himself from smiling too widely by biting the inside of his cheek.

Doyoung’s hand falls lightly into Jungwoo’s fluffy brown hair, massaging gently. “You… really like them,” he comments, curious. “Even though you haven’t known them very long. You’re close with Ten and Sicheng, too, and it hasn’t even been two weeks.”

Yuta thinks about that as he keeps moving his fingers in Jaehyun’s fur. “What’s not to like?” he ends up asking. “Everyone’s so kind to me, and they’re all fun. Even when I thought Jaehyun hated me, he was never cruel,” he says like it’s simple.

Doyoung stares at him. “They like you, too. I can tell.” He cards his fingers through Jungwoo’s hair, looking down warmly at the boy who sleeps peacefully in his lap. “Jungwoo really likes you a lot. He wanted to be around you all day, and Jaehyun must find you comforting if he’s sleeping in your lap like that,” Doyoung says. “You mentioned Jisung likes to sleep in your palm, too, so he probably feels the same.”

“Really?” Yuta looks up, eyes wide at Doyoung. Unexpectedly, relief floods his system upon hearing the words, not even realizing how much he wanted to be connected with all of these witches and their familiars. “I’m glad,” he grins happily, looking back down at Jaehyun.

Doyoung frowns apologetically. “But aren’t I keeping you from your friends?” he asks guiltily. “I basically trapped you here.”

Yuta shrugs. “Johnny was my first real friend in decades,” he confesses. “When you’re like me, making friends isn’t really an option. How would I explain to anyone that I don’t age? How would I stop someone else from getting hurt because I can’t care about them as much as they care about me?” Yuta tries not to fold in on himself thinking about all the years he spent by himself, pushing others away. “No one deserves that,” he whispers.

There’s silence for a moment before Doyoung speaks up. “Even when I thought I’d messed everything up and lost everything, they were still there for me—Ten, Sicheng, Taeyong…” He looks up at Yuta, and Yuta feels like he’s seeing Doyoung for the first time. “It must have been so lonely,” he condoles.

Yuta thinks back to the decades he spent on his own: going to law school, entering the workforce, working as a professional, moving back to Seoul all by himself, all without anyone to share his experiences with because he refused to let them in, sparing everyone from his lack of love. “It was,” he agrees. He keeps his eyes locked with Doyoung’s and feels the soft fur of Jaehyun’s neck against his hand, sees Jungwoo sleeping serenely in Doyoung’s lap, and he smiles. “But I think it’ll be okay from now on.”

🌿🌿🌿

The start of Yuta’s third week with Doyoung begins somewhat differently than the days before.

“Uh, Doyoung?” Yuta says hesitantly, placing his bowl back on the table. He reaches for the green teacup and sips gradually, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. The sound of the shower resonates in the distance, and Yuta takes it as a sign that Ten and Sicheng are washing up.

Doyoung turns around from where he stands at the stove preparing lunch. “Yeah? Everything good?” he asks. He walks up to Yuta and places a hand on his forehead, trying to gauge the warmth from his hand. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Y-yeah, not sick,” Yuta stammers, startled by the sudden close proximity of Doyoung’s face to his. “Just something about the medicine this time was… off,” he tells Doyoung.

Doyoung draws his hand away and his eyebrows crease together. “Off?” he questions.

Yuta nods. “It wasn’t as bad this time,” he says, remembering the taste. “Didn’t feel like needles, just felt like liquid. And the taste was bad, but it was just bitter. Not like death personified.” He shivers at the memory of the taste from just the day before. He brings the teacup to his mouth and drinks again. “But, yeah, not as god-awful today. Just mildly gross.”

Doyoung makes a noise of interest. “Huh. That’s a good sign, I think.”

Yuta raises an eyebrow. “You think?” he repeats.

Doyoung shrugs in response. “I’ve healed immortality curses before, but never the weird love one that you have. I know how to heal it in theory, but I don’t know how you’re supposed to know if it’s working,” he admits to Yuta sheepishly.

Yuta stares at him. “Doyoung.”

Doyoung bites his lip, chewing it as he thinks. “Is there—a person? Someone who made you realize you were cursed to begin with?” he asks, racking his brain for ideas.

“What do you mean?”

Doyoung holds his arms around himself. “Did you have someone you loved when you were cursed?” he asks instead.

Yuta starts understanding Doyoung’s train of thought. “Yeah, I did,” he tells him honestly.

He doesn’t expect Doyoung’s expression to falter, but it hardens in a second. Yuta wonders if he imagined it. “Try thinking about them,” Doyoung offers, hands gripping around himself hard enough for Yuta to notice. “If you think about them and feel something, then maybe you’ve been healed.”

So Yuta does—he recalls the comfort of Taeil’s hugs, the happiness in his graduation photo, the birthdays they shared together—everything he remembers loving about Taeil. But no warmth blooms in his chest, no giddiness in his stomach, only a fond nostalgia and the feeling of missing Taeil washes over him.

Still no love.

He shakes his head at Doyoung sadly and shrugs, taking another sip of his tea. “Nothing,” he relays.

Doyoung purses his lips and hums. “Well, the difference in taste must mean something,” he reasons. “Keep thinking of that person. You know yourself best, so you’ll know when you’ve been healed.” He takes the bowl from in front of Yuta without another word, placing it into the sink and going back to cooking lunch.

There’s an icy silence from Doyoung for the rest of the day, and Yuta can’t shake the feeling that he’s done something wrong.

🌿🌿🌿

Christmas is a few days later, and as it so happens, the weather is perfect enough for Yuta to want to take a walk after lunch.

“Come with me,” Yuta drawls, elongating the last word for extra effect. He follows Doyoung around like a shadow, insisting that he join him on his walk. “Come on, Ten and Sicheng already said they would come, you should too!”

“Then you three can go, I have things to do,” Doyoung says, turning away from Yuta.

Yuta feels a twinge in his chest at the adamant refusal, and he reaches out to grab Doyoung’s arm before he can think twice about it. Doyoung stops moving around, turning in Yuta’s grasp to give Yuta his full attention. Yuta swallows at the harsh look. “Please?” he tries for the last time, voice small. “I want you to come,” he says sincerely, because he really does want Doyoung to be with him instead of avoiding him like he’s been doing for the last few days.

The conflict in Doyoung’s eyes is obvious, even if Yuta doesn’t know why there’s conflict in the first place, but eventually Doyoung deflates in Yuta’s hold and places a hand over Yuta’s. “Okay,” he concedes, offering Yuta a small grin. “I’ll come with you guys, let me go get dressed.” His hand falls from Yuta’s, and Yuta finally lets him go so that he can retreat into his bedroom. He comes out a few minutes later, an extra scarf and winter coat in his hand that he hands to Yuta. “Wouldn’t want you to freeze,” he smirks, helping Yuta slip his arms into the coat.

“As if I can even die,” Yuta quips, letting Doyoung fit the coat onto him. He ducks his head when Doyoung lifts up the scarf and wraps it snuggly around his neck. When he lowers his chin, he feels the enveloping warmth of the fabric against his neck, and he holds the coat closer to himself. “Are we good to go?”

Doyoung takes a moment to respond, eyes softening as he looks at Yuta in the winter attire. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “All good.”

The two of them walk outside where Ten and Sicheng are already waiting for them. A snowball hits Doyoung as soon as they step out of the house, and Ten barks out a laugh. “The fuck took you guys so long?” he calls out, Sicheng snickering into his hand beside him.

Doyoung stares at Ten blankly. “I can go back inside,” he threatens emptily.

Sicheng bounds over to him anyways and clings onto his arm. “No, hyung, walk with us,” he whines playfully, dragging Doyoung away from the house forcefully.

Yuta and Ten trail behind them, and Yuta breathes in the winter air. “It’s nice to go farther than five feet away from the house,” he relishes, stretching his arms out.

“Wait ‘till you see where Doyoung is taking us,” Ten teases. “The view looks great from this spot he found, there’s no way he’s taking us any other place than there. You’re gonna love it.”

“Ooh, I get to see his secret spot?” Yuta gushes lightheartedly. He looks ahead and sees Doyoung and Sicheng walking together, hand in hand, the two of them invested in conversation with each other. Yuta’s chest twists unpleasantly at the sight and he looks away, looping an arm with Ten who easily accepts it.

Ten glances between Yuta and the entwined hands of the pair ahead of them. “It kind of is his secret spot,” Ten confesses. “It used to be the place where he’d go to sulk when a job went poorly or when he felt like he messed things up. Sicheng and I ended up finding out about it on accident.” He looks ahead at Doyoung’s back, watching him listen intently to whatever Sicheng is saying. “Not even Taeyong knows about it. But the view really is to die for. You wouldn’t get it on any of the trails, that’s for sure.”

Yuta smiles at the thought of seeing something so important to Doyoung. “I can’t wait,” he tells Ten.

The four of them walk for just under an hour, Yuta talking to Ten about his old jobs and asking more questions about magic and what it’s like to be a lynx, Ten listening receptively and answering with enthusiasm. He stops mid-sentence when he sees where Doyoung has led them, and his breath catches in his throat at the sight.

They stand atop a cliff, from the highest peak Yuta has ever been on, giving him a clear view of the rest of the mountaintops and forests. Everything is covered in a neat layer of snow, light sparkling everywhere Yuta looks, and he belatedly realizes they’re standing next to a river that leads to a waterfall. It’s been frozen over in a thick layer of ice, and Yuta takes a step towards it, but he feels a hand on his arm pulling him back.

“Don’t want you to slip,” Doyoung says, pulling Yuta closer towards himself in caution. “A fall from this height would be bad news.” He peers over the edge of the waterfall, grimacing at the altitude.

Yuta follows his lead and looks down from their tall height and takes a step back. “Right. Thanks,” he says, dizzy with wonder as he looks back up at the view. “Jesus, this is unreal,” he says in awe, taking in the sight and breathing in the air. He hears spirited growling and yelping behind them and turns around to find a lynx and a wolf chasing each other around in the snow.

“You like it?” Doyoung asks, almost shy. Yuta turns to face him and finds Doyoung’s expression hopeful. He can tell Doyoung is chewing the inside of his cheek in anticipation of Yuta’s answer.

“A view like this was something I dreamed about as a kid all the time,” Yuta tells him in earnest. “I love it.”

Yuta’s breath hitches when the words leave his mouth. He hasn’t said that in so, so long.

Doyoung’s shoulders deflate in relief, and he beams widely, showing his gums. Yuta’s heart stops at the sight of Doyoung smiling so unabashedly. “I was worried you might think the walk was too long,” he admits.

Yuta blinks himself out of his daze and laughs. “Hiking is probably the only thing I kept up before and after the curses,” he says. “An hour’s walk is nothing to me. And holy hell, is it worth it.” He turns back towards the cliff and takes it all in again, wanting to commit every detail of this scene to memory.

“I was hoping you’d like it here,” Doyoung says beside him. The two of them face outwards together, doing nothing but admiring the view, just existing in each other’s company for a few moments.

“I used to come here alone a lot, until Sicheng found me,” Doyoung says quietly. Yuta turns his head to look at him as he speaks. “But… I think I like it better with company.” Doyoung looks forward for a second more before turning his head towards Yuta. “Wanna see something kinda cool?”

Yuta cocks his head to the side. “Cooler than this?” He gestures to the view in front of them.

Doyoung’s eyes glow emerald as he grins. “You tell me.”

The snow around them collects from the ground and the trees and begins to lift into the air, whirling around the two of them. The snow moves so quickly that Yuta feels the chilly wind from their movement. Yuta and Doyoung turn to face each other, and Yuta is pulled closer to Doyoung as the snow keeps swirling around them, higher and higher, until it collects in the sky above their heads and explodes in every direction, floating back down gently.

Snowflakes begin to litter Doyoung’s dark hair as his eyes shimmer back to their original color. “Mini snowstorm, without the actual storm,” he says, grinning. “That was one of the first things I learned how to do with my magic.” His expression is pleased as he looks around at the falling snow.

Yuta’s eyes shine widely in wonder. He looks up into Doyoung’s eyes, the rims of his irises still fading from emerald to chestnut, and he smiles in adoration.

“Beautiful,” he utters breathlessly.

Later that night, Doyoung’s house is full of Taeyong, Johnny, Jaemin, and Jungwoo with all of their familiars eating dinner. Everywhere Yuta looks, someone is sitting on the couch, a chair, or the floor with a plate in their hands. He hears Mark bickering with Donghyuck, and Yuta watches Mark turn pink when Jungwoo tries to feed him. He sees Donghyuck and Jaemin nonchalantly lock pinkies together on the floor while they both make fun of Mark’s flushed cheeks, and he sees Ten as a lynx curled up and sleeping, with Jisung asleep in his mouse form on top of Ten’s soft, warm tummy. Jaehyun as an Akita sleeps soundly, wrapping himself completely around Ten. Yuta catches up with Johnny about the latest mishaps at the bookstore and helps him placate Taeyong when Donghyuck and Sicheng spill food onto Doyoung’s floor.

He makes eye contact with Doyoung as they’re both cleaning up the stain, and they both burst out giggling together on the floor.

Yuta thinks back to last Christmas where he turned down Johnny’s offer to spend dinner with him and Taeyong, instead walking home to an empty apartment and going to sleep at 8 PM. He thinks about the year before that where he ate convenience store food alone while he watched Christmas movies.

He tries to think of the last time he felt as happy as he does now, but comes up empty.

Yuta has never been surrounded by so many friends and laughter and felt so full of life.

 _And when I’m fully healed,_ Yuta thinks, still giggling breathlessly next to Doyoung as they try to wipe the stain out of his carpet, _I don’t have to give all of this up._

🌿🌿🌿

“Tell me about them.”

Yuta turns his head to face Doyoung, who sits on the opposite end of the couch, the festivities of the New Year’s broadcast from the TV fading into the background as he gives Doyoung his attention. Ten is lying across the couch, head on Doyoung’s lap, sleeping peacefully in the curled up position he usually snoozes in as a lynx. On the floor by their feet is Sicheng, who’s currently a wolf, slumbering soundly. The crackle of the fire spreads warmth over Yuta’s cheeks in the otherwise wintry air of the house.

“About who?” Yuta asks, even though he has a suspicion about who Doyoung is asking for. Doyoung has been off the whole day, spacing out more easily and speaking only when spoken to. This is the first time today that he’s initiated any real conversation with Yuta.

Doyoung drums his fingers against his knee. “There must have been a reason you were able to find out you were cursed, right? Tell me about the person who made you realize that.” Doyoung switches from drumming his fingers on his knee to gripping it tightly, though his face feigns neutrality. Ten rolls himself over in his sleep, face up. Doyoung’s other hand automatically moves to rest gently on Ten’s chest, moving up and down slowly in time with Ten’s rhythmic breathing.

“Oh.” Yuta purses his lips and thinks of Taeil, something that’s gotten harder to do as he ages. “He was my best friend at the time. Met him in high school, fell in love with him in less than a week, followed him into university. You know, cheesy teen stuff.” He knows he fell in love with Taeil the minute he opened his mouth to give him the tour of their high school when Yuta transferred into it, but it’s a feeling he no longer remembers no matter how hard he tries.

Doyoung begins fidgeting with the collar of Ten’s shirt, rubbing the material in between his fingers. “What was he like?” he asks, voice almost a whisper, like he’s afraid of the answer.

Yuta answers him anyways, struggling to talk about Taeil after avoiding the thought of him for decades. “He was a really good friend, and a great listener.” He pauses. “He liked anchovies on his pizza,” he recalls.

Doyoung wrinkles his nose at that. “Anchovies?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in mild disgust.

Yuta rolls his eyes. “You like pineapple on your pizzas, you’re in no position to judge,” he counters, just to watch the way Doyoung juts his bottom lip out at him.

“It’s good,” he mutters, more to himself than to Yuta. His fingers keep toying with the material of Ten’s shirt. “Were you—was he your boyfriend?” he asks, voice back to that smallness that Yuta isn’t used to hearing from him.

Yuta shakes his head fervently. “We were stupidly close, but we were never boyfriends,” he emphasizes. “This is gonna sound like bullshit, but I really was just content to be his friend. I loved to love him. I didn’t need him to love me back in the same way,” he says. When he glances at Doyoung, he finds him chewing the inside of his cheek. He decides to step into dangerous territory. “Have you ever had anyone like that?”

Doyoung jerks his head towards Yuta, the fingers he has on Ten’s shirt flinching in shock. Eventually, he looks down at Ten, moving the hand on his knee into Ten’s hair, running his fingers through the dark locks tenderly. “There was… someone,” he admits quietly. “But there was someone else who was better for him, loved him more. They deserved each other. So we just stayed as friends.” His voice has the slightest tremor in it as he speaks. “I don’t love him anymore,” he says with finality. Even with the shaking of his voice, Yuta can tell he means it. “I just miss him.”

The sounds of the New Year’s countdown from the TV seem distant to Yuta, farther away. He watches Doyoung comb through Ten’s hair with delicate fingers. The light from the fire illuminates his features, like a melancholy painting bathed softly in orange and red.

“Yeah,” Yuta agrees.

Yuta thinks he knows the feeling well.

🌿🌿🌿

The next day, on January 1st, Yuta wakes up to an empty room.

He sits up on the couch and looks around. He remembers watching TV with Doyoung the night before, feeling the glow from the fireplace as he let his head loll to the side and rest on Doyoung’s shoulder before he fell asleep. The air around him is cold, no sign of Doyoung’s warm presence. The pillows in the window where Ten and Sicheng normally sleep are empty, and Yuta doesn’t hear the shower running from the bathroom. He stands and walks around the room, finding a bowl with clear liquid for him on the counter. Next to it is a pot of comfort tea, still slightly warm, but not hot like it usually is.

Yuta decides to bite the bullet before he continues to look for everyone else and lifts the bowl to his mouth. He notices with a start that he no longer smells anything from the substance or feels those dark feelings anymore. The voice in him that told him not to drink the liquid is silent for once, and when Yuta finally drinks it, he doesn’t taste anything at all.

 _Weird,_ he thinks, setting the bowl back down on the counter. He pours himself a cup of comfort tea to settle his nerves and goes about trying to find everyone again.

Yuta checks the weather to see if they went out without him, but finds it overcast and snowy. Finally, he stands in front of the door to Doyoung’s room. He raises his fist to knock, but before he can, the door opens a crack, and Sicheng’s face appears.

He looks a bit guilty, sorry, and definitely somber. “Sorry, Yuta. Doyoung isn’t feeling well today,” he mutters apologetically. “Your remedy is on the counter.”

“I already drank it,” Yuta tells him quietly to match Sicheng’s tone. “Is he okay?” he asks, doing his best not to look over Sicheng’s shoulder into the room.

Sicheng bites his lip. “Ten and I are taking care of him. Is it okay if you hang out by yourself today?”

Yuta creases his eyebrows in concern, but he nods. “That’s fine. Let me know if I can help,” he says.

Sicheng gives him a small, sad grin, then gently closes the door, leaving Yuta on his own.

Hours later into the evening, after a nap and mindlessly watching TV, Yuta rifles through Ten’s storage in search of another blanket as the snowstorm outside grows in its intensity. He finds one underneath all of the clothes and pulls it out to wrap around himself. Before he puts the couch cushions back into place, though, he spots a large, thick book at the bottom, hidden beneath clothes that Yuta must have unearthed by pulling out the blanket. He takes it out with curiosity, then puts the cushions back onto the couch, falling into them and placing the book on his lap.

There’s a small photo in the middle of the cover of four people—Yuta recognizes Doyoung, Sicheng, and Ten, but he can’t put a name to the fourth man in the little photo. He flips the book open to its first page and finds a few photos of two young children together, getting older in age with each picture. Yuta squints at the familiar faces, and his eyes widen when he sees that their names are written on each page, along with the year.

The photos are of Taeyong and Doyoung as children, as young as five or six, progressing in age as Yuta flips through the book. Some are photos of the two of them at graduations or playing together on playgrounds, and there are a handful of Doyoung as a young child using his nature magic, his emerald eyes shining in amazement as he watches a flower grow in the dirt in front him.

Soon after the photos of their high school graduation, Mark and Donghyuck begin to appear in many of the pictures as pre-teens or even smaller cubs. Yuta grins fondly at the shots of the two of them hugging each other or fighting as cubs, Taeyong in the background looking exasperated. Ten and Sicheng begin to appear as well, Yuta figuring out that all four of their familiars must have appeared to them when they graduated high school.

Around the same time, the same man from the cover begins appearing in photos with Taeyong and Doyoung in university. Yuta recognizes his face, pinpoints him as someone who frequents the bookstore, but not someone he really knows. At some point, Doyoung had stopped writing the names of every person, so Yuta finds himself unable to fully identify him.

He flips through the pages and grins thoughtfully at the happiness that radiates from the snapshots. In their last year of university, Johnny begins to appear in their photos, and Yuta snorts at some of his hairstyle choices.

Yuta’s eyes drift towards the man from the bookstore in each photo, mostly in pictures with Ten, but there’s one photo that makes Yuta pause. It’s a photo of the three of them, Ten, Doyoung, and the bookstore man, where Doyoung’s fingers are intertwined with the other’s while Ten kisses the stranger on the cheek.

The man has chiseled features but a welcoming smile, and he grins warmly against the peck on his cheek in the photo. His fingers hold Doyoung’s loosely, and Doyoung gazes at him with such affection that Yuta wishes he could have been there to witness himself. His fingers hover over Doyoung’s adoring expression lightly, moving towards their entwined hands.

 _“There was… someone.”_ Doyoung’s words from the night before ring in Yuta’s head. _“But there was someone else who was better for him.”_ Yuta’s fingers drift over to where Ten pecks the stranger lovingly. _“Loved him more.”_ His eyes hover back to Doyoung’s look of genuine contentment, no trace of jealousy or bitterness to be found. _“They deserved each other.”_

He’s so captivated by the photo, he doesn’t realize when he’s no longer alone in the room. “Doyoung would kill you if he saw you with that,” Sicheng’s deep voice says from behind the couch, making Yuta jump in his seat and gasp in shock.

His first instinct is to close the photobook and try to hide it, but he figures there’s no point now. “Sorry,” he mumbles regretfully, hanging his head down in shame. “Found it in Ten’s clothes. I shouldn’t have looked.”

Sicheng walks around the couch and takes a seat next to Yuta, peering over at the photo of the three men, making a noise of recognition. “Ten really likes this picture, even though I’m not in it,” he sulks, pouting.

Yuta laughs lightly. “Who’s…?” He points his finger to the man he’s seen in the bookstore, eyes flitting back to his and Doyoung’s intertwined fingers.

He hears Sicheng exhale softly and looks up to see him gazing wistfully at the photo. “That’s Kun,” Sicheng almost whispers, voice dripping with a mournful nostalgia that makes Yuta’s chest squeeze painfully.

Yuta opens his mouth to ask questions, like who Kun is to them or why he hasn’t seen him around, but he doesn’t know how. Sicheng sees him struggling and shoots him a lopsided grin, the corner of his mouth going up just slightly. “Doyoung and Taeyong met Kun as soon as they got into university. Ten and I appeared soon after. Kun was kind of worried at first about fitting in with them, since Doyoung and Taeyong have always been so close, but they all became friends so seamlessly that you wouldn’t be able to tell they hadn’t grown up with Kun by their sides.” Sicheng takes the photobook into his own lap, outlining the edges of the photos with slender fingers. “They grew close so fast. Witches attract other witches, I guess,” he shrugs, flipping the page.

Yuta’s eyes drag over the new set of pictures of their university graduation. “Kun’s a witch?” he asks.

Sicheng hums in affirmation and flips the page again to more photos with Kun in them, his eyes a pale yellow as he uses his magic. “He was really talented, a healer,” Sicheng describes. “After they graduated, Kun and Doyoung worked together as partners. They both specialized in dark magic, so they did a lot of work together, helping others.” He turns the page to a collection of pictures with Doyoung and Kun, some with Sicheng and Ten, studying and practicing magic with each other. The pale yellow of Kun’s eyes are a stark contrast to Doyoung’s emerald. “Kun could heal someone of dark magic, but only in particular cases where it was dormant and slow-working, like yours,” Sicheng says, gesturing towards Yuta. “Other times, when it was more active and intense, Doyoung could redirect it back into the Earth where it would dissipate or manifest safely. Sometimes, when the dark magic was too much, too dangerous, there was no saving the person, and Doyoung would get in his own head about it. But Kun was there to help him back up. They learned a lot from each other, in the different ways they solved problems. Doyoung can heal you now because he learned how to from Kun, even though it takes Doyoung longer.”

“Doyoung said working with dark magic was dangerous,” Yuta mentions. There’s a determined edge to Doyoung’s jade eyes that Yuta can feel even through the photos. “Why would he do this if it’s risky?”

Sicheng grins faintly at the question. “He always thought it was worth it.” His fingers trace the corners of the photos gingerly. “Kun did, too. And the two of them were good at what they did. Even if Doyoung got hurt in the process, he trusted Kun to be there to heal him every time,” Sicheng tells Yuta. “And Kun did. He was always there for Doyoung, right by his side,” he reminisces, smile warm as he glances over the pictures.

Yuta looks on with him, immortalizing the happiness exuding from Doyoung’s features in each of the photos into his memory. He wants Doyoung to smile as candidly as does in these photos, as openly as he did on the clifftop the week before and wonders why Kun can’t seem to be a part of that. “Why… isn’t he here now?” he asks Sicheng, choosing his words carefully. After hearing Sicheng speak about Kun with such high regard, he’s eager to get to know more about him, curious about his whereabouts and admittedly nosy when it comes to his history with Doyoung.

When the warmth in Sicheng’s eyes go out, Yuta is worried he’s made a mistake, stepped on a landmine and overstepped boundaries, but Sicheng recovers quickly and breathes out lowly, like he’s grounding himself. “Today’s actually Kun’s birthday,” Sicheng reveals to Yuta, “but Kun never stops working for anything. It was the same two years ago.” Yuta can see the way Sicheng recalls a memory in his head; he can tell by the evident expression of pain he wears, not bothering to mask it with faux apathy. “The two of them got a call on Kun’s birthday. Seemed like an easy healing job, nothing Kun couldn’t handle.” Sicheng shifts in his seat, letting go of the pages in the photobook to ball his hands up into fists instead. “They misjudged it. They never made mistakes this big, they were never careless, but for some reason—for some reason, they miscalculated. They didn’t even consult Ten before they jumped into it, and it—it cost them. The dark magic wasn’t docile, it was malevolent, and _violent._ It latched itself onto Kun before any of us could stop it. Every time Doyoung tried to redirect it, it would hurt Kun more and more. He was in so much pain.”

His shoulders hunch over instinctively, and Yuta immediately moves closer to close his hand over Sicheng’s, hoping to offer any sort of comfort to him. Sicheng deflates at the contact, his fists no longer burning crescents into his palms with their force, but his voice still shakes when he rasps out, “Kun always knew how to heal Doyoung, but Doyoung didn’t know how to heal Kun.” He uses his free hand to wipe at his face, even though it’s free of tears.

“Kun was seconds from death. _Seconds.”_ Sicheng visibly shudders, and Yuta squeezes his hand to keep him anchored, even while his own heart drops into his stomach. “I could see it in his eyes, and Ten was holding onto him, shouting, _begging_ for Doyoung to do something. So Doyoung did.” He sniffs dryly, chewing at his bottom lip and looking up towards Yuta nervously. “I—I lied when I said Doyoung doesn’t cast dark magic, doesn’t use it. He has before, but only one time. Just this once, when Kun’s light was on the verge of going out, he used it because it was the only thing he could do. He used it to save Kun’s life.”

Yuta lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You—dark magic can do that?” he asks, feeling his heart settle back into a rhythm that doesn’t deafen his ears.

Sicheng nods solemnly. “Dark magic is the most powerful magic there is. People use it often for all sorts of reasons. But it’s also cunning, and it requires a price to be used,” he explains. “You don’t get to choose what the price is, you don’t even know it until you’re using it and it whispers to you what it takes. For some, the price is smaller, like a treasured heirloom that will mysteriously go missing. For others, the sacrifice is bigger, like health.”

The memory from so long ago of Jinri lying on her bed, of skin pulled taut and grey over her thin bones, surrounded by the suffocating scent of marigolds, makes itself known to Yuta.

He swallows around the memory and asks, carefully, “What was Doyoung’s price?”

Sicheng bites his bottom lip again. “Doyoung’s price… was Kun,” he breathes out, looking back down at the photos in his lap. “Kun lived, Doyoung was powerful enough to make that bargain. But his life was… altered.” He draws his eyebrows together, looking like he’s deciding on the best words to use to describe what happened. “Kun’s magic was taken, and everything in his life that was associated with magic was—stolen from his memory, from his past. It’s less like he forgot and more like we were never there to begin with,” he tells Yuta, sorrow filling every inch of his voice. “He has no magic, and every memory he had with us was replaced with something else. The only person he remembered when he woke up was Johnny because he’s human.” 

“But you can still re-introduce yourselves,” Yuta pushes, maybe too forcefully. He doesn’t know Kun aside from their interactions at the bookstore, but he hates to see the pain this separation has caused Sicheng, for his agony to bleed through his voice so clearly. “It would be different, but he could still be in your lives.”

Sicheng shakes his head sadly. “Ten and I are familiars. Hiding who we really are can only last for so long, and even though Kun was a witch before, he’s human now. They’re not always as… receptive as you and Johnny are to witches and magic. There’s no telling how he’d take it, and we don’t want to risk that, not when Kun is living a life away from the dangers of magic. And Doyoung—” Sicheng pauses, sighing minutely. “He doesn’t think he deserves Kun. He hasn’t gone back to the city since it all happened, he let Kun keep the apartment in Seoul that we used to share. He doesn’t want to chance even the possibility of running into Kun, so he stays here.” Sicheng frowns. “He still wonders if the price was too high.”

“But Kun’s alive,” Yuta interjects, grip on Sicheng’s hand growing tighter. “Isn’t that what matters?”

The hand that Yuta grips squeezes back lightly in understanding. “Kun’s magic was nearly everything to him. We’ll never know for sure, but there’s a part of Doyoung that thinks Kun would resent him for taking that away if he knew.” Sicheng winces slightly as he recalls, “There are… some things that Ten said to him, right after it all happened, that might still stick with Doyoung. Ten has said he’s sorry in every way he knows how, reminds Doyoung that he did the right thing, especially today, but it never really sinks in. The most that either of us can do is be by his side. That’s why we spent all day in his room. Mostly sleeping, since that’s how Doyoung deals with most things. Sorry for leaving you alone,” he finishes, voice quiet.

Yuta shakes his head, rubbing his thumb over the rough skin of Sicheng’s hand. “I sort of know him. Kun. Never got his name until now. He comes into the bookstore Johnny and I work at,” he admits to Sicheng.

Sicheng perks up marginally at that, eyes peering up to look at Yuta. “What’s—what’s he like, now?” he asks, the hope in his small voice giving away just how much he misses Kun.

So, Yuta talks about him. “He’s blonde now, which is a pretty recent development. And every time he comes into the store, he buys something, but it’s usually a vinyl. And he’s more straightforward than his kindness leads you to believe. Whenever I go into work dead tired, he tells me the dark circles under my eyes look like shit, then he’ll run to the café next door to buy me coffee.” He leans his shoulder back into the couch, feeling the tension in his shoulders unwind knowing he can bring the smallest hint of solace into Sicheng’s life with the information. “I heard him talking to Johnny about his job, I think he’s a songwriter? For a hugely popular company, no less. Johnny might have already told you that, though.”

Sicheng shakes his head, the tension bleeding from his own shoulders as he leans more into Yuta. “I think Taeyong told him not to bring it up. Doesn’t know how Ten or Doyoung will react.” He glances at Yuta before he angles his head to the side so that it hits Yuta’s chest. “Thank you for telling me about him,” he murmurs, “and for listening to me ramble.”

Yuta places his free hand over the back of Sicheng’s neck, scratching lightly the way he knows Sicheng enjoys when he’s a wolf. “Literally anytime, Sichengie.” He turns his head to eye Doyoung’s bedroom door, missing how his heart skips a beat. “Will they be okay?” he asks softly, worried.

He feels Sicheng shrug against his chest. “It took Doyoung a while to come back around this time last year, but things are different this year. He has a job to do,” he says, poking Yuta in the thigh, making him squirm.

Yuta swats his finger away half-heartedly, huffing out a protest and a laugh. He looks back towards the bedroom door, hoping that Sicheng is right.

At 2 AM, after an hour of restless rustling on the couch, trying and failing to sleep, Yuta makes the executive decision to go into Doyoung’s room and see him himself. After almost four straight weeks of seeing and interacting with Doyoung, not seeing him even for one day unsettled Yuta, that was all. He saw Sicheng occasionally go back into his bedroom with food, and Ten eventually made his way out and onto the window ledge to curl up with Sicheng, flashing a shaky thumbs up at Yuta on the way, but it wasn’t enough. He wants to see Doyoung himself, make sure he was eating the food he was given.

Wants to make sure he’s okay.

Yuta has spent the last few weeks picking Doyoung apart to understand him, unconsciously or not, and he thinks he has at least one thing figured out: if you wait for Doyoung to come to you, you will wait forever. If Yuta wants to see Doyoung, _he_ has to go to _him,_ so that’s what he does. He sits up on the couch, letting the blankets fall from his shoulders, and quietly walks to Doyoung’s bedroom door so as to not wake Sicheng or Ten. His hand only hesitates for a second before slowly turning the knob and walking inside. He closes it gently behind him, missing the way the wolf and lynx both have one eye cracked open, watching him pad his way into Doyoung’s bedroom. They let him go.

When he’s sure the door is closed all the way, hearing it click into place, he turns around to face the bedroom. It’s his first time seeing it, but the only thing he’s focused on is Doyoung, sitting on the bed. He’s sitting on his knees facing forwards, but his back is hunched slightly, obscuring his face from Yuta’s view. The only light in the room comes from a lamp on the nightstand, and it emanates a soft yellowy-orange that bathes Doyoung’s figure in a gentle glow. There’s a picture frame that sits limply in his hands on his lap, and Yuta lets out a breath though his nose at the sight. He remembers this—he’s been here before.

An ache in his chest and an uncomfortable tug in his stomach compels him to move towards the bed, so he does.

Step by step, he gets closer until he’s standing right by where Doyoung is sat near the head of the bed. Yuta can see the photo cradled in his hands now, and he’s not surprised to see that it’s a photo with Kun in it. Kun has an arm around Ten’s neck, putting him in a headlock, and Yuta can hear their laughter ringing happily through the photo. Doyoung and Sicheng are on either side of the other two, Sicheng tilting his head and smiling at the camera. Doyoung’s head is slanted downwards, touching the top of Kun’s head just slightly, wearing that bright gummy smile that Yuta loves.

That Yuta loves.

He reaches out to pull the picture from Doyoung’s fingers, and Doyoung lets him. The frame slips easily out of his grasp as Yuta sets it on the nightstand amongst a few other photos, all with Kun in them. There are the bowls of food left on his nightstand from Sicheng, too, left untouched. Yuta rests a tentative, gentle hand on Doyoung’s back and turns his head to finally see Doyoung’s face.

The whites of Doyoung’s eyes are lined with red, and he stares at the grey bedsheets vacantly. The dark circles under his eyes are puffy, and there are dried tear tracks running down his face. Yuta moves his hand up to cup the back of Doyoung’s neck softly, feeling through the semi-curls of hair at his nape. Doyoung’s shoulders drop as he relaxes, and his eyes flutter closed, leaning into the touch. His breath turns steady, deep, for the first time since Yuta has seen him tonight, and exhaustion seeps out of him in waves.

Yuta helps slowly maneuver Doyoung’s body until he’s lying with his head on his pillow, then pulls the bedsheets up to Doyoung’s chin. He watches Doyoung wiggle himself under the sheets until he’s comfortable. When it stops, Doyoung peers up at Yuta with round, tired eyes, looking like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.

It takes Yuta a short second to decide whether or not he wants to leave yet. He ends up climbing over Doyoung into the empty space in the bed by the wall and shimmying himself under the bedsheets in swift movements, ignoring the curious look in Doyoung’s eyes as he does so. He breathes in the scent of chamomile from the pillowcase and turns his head into it to bury his nose further into the comforting aroma.

When his eyes slip back open, Doyoung is gazing at him with a question written on his face, but he quickly pulls the covers over himself timidly once Yuta catches him staring. Yuta looks up at the ceiling, taking his eyes off of the other and resting his arms on his stomach. He hears Doyoung pull the covers back down, then there’s movement next to him, some shuffling, until he feels the warmth from Doyoung’s body close to his arm. Yuta doesn’t move, doesn’t reach out; he keeps his eyes on the ceiling while he waits for Doyoung’s next words or action.

He doesn’t have to wait long before he feels Doyoung reach towards the hem of his shirt, holding it tightly in his grasp. His face is close enough for Yuta to feel Doyoung’s breath on his shoulder through his shirt, shallow but steady. When he speaks, his voice is scratchy and rough from disuse, but the words make their way to Yuta’s ears nonetheless.

“I—” Yuta senses the hesitation in Doyoung’s tone, warm breath fanning over his shoulders as he exhales. He doesn’t turn his head to look, not yet, but he knows Doyoung is in conflict with himself over whether or not to say anything at all. In the end, he finishes his sentence, voice trembling and quiet. “I just miss him,” he breathes out, vulnerable and broken and terribly sad.

Yuta lets himself look then. He sees Doyoung’s half-lidded eyes, shining with unshed tears, his small lips parted and quivering, and he reaches his hand down slowly to wrap around Doyoung’s. The fingers gripping his shirt gradually relax, letting Yuta slot his own in between his. Doyoung clutches Yuta’s hand, holding onto him like a lifeline, and Yuta lets him.

He runs his thumb over Doyoung’s and watches his eyes steadily fall closed, tears collecting on his lashes as he does so, falling over the bridge of his nose and onto the pillow underneath. Yuta waits for his breathing to even out, making sure the exhaustion has fully taken over before he reaches up his hand in between them and uses a finger to brush the wetness from Doyoung’s lashes as gently as he can.

“It’s okay to miss him,” Yuta whispers belatedly into the night. He lets himself stare unabashedly at Doyoung, his bed of wavy hair, his pink lips, the rise and fall of his chest. Doyoung’s hand grows warm in Yuta’s, and Yuta feels it spread throughout his whole body until he feels nothing but warmth and tenderness, beating in his heart and flowing through his veins.

He feels like he’s home.

🌿🌿🌿

The bed is vacant when Yuta wakes up the next morning, but the side that Doyoung slept on still emanates a semblance of warmth when Yuta rests his hand over it.

He sits up and stretches, scooting to the edge of the bed and letting his feet land on the floor. After rubbing his eyes and yawning, he looks around the room in the morning light for the first time, taking in the bedroom fully. The walls aren’t the pale yellow that the rest of the house bears, but instead they’re a light seafoam green that further relaxes Yuta. There isn’t much decorating the room, only a few dried plants and flowers hanging on the wall at the head of the bed, but Yuta finds himself looking at the framed pictures on the bedside table.

There are only three photos that sit on the table, each of them with Kun: there’s the one with the four of them, one with only Kun and Ten, and one where Kun is by himself. Joyfulness radiates from each of the pictures, and Yuta is struck with the realization that he wants to make the others as happy as Kun seemed to make them.

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the desire as he exits the bedroom. Sicheng and Ten are still sleeping, curled up together on the window ledge and breathing deeply. He finds Doyoung in the kitchen standing in front of the stove, throwing the ingredients for Yuta’s medicine into a pot. The familiar sight stirs a comfort in Yuta as he walks over to the kitchen to stand by Doyoung, watching the ingredients liquefy before Doyoung pours it all into a bowl.

Doyoung jumps when he turns around and sees Yuta, nearly spilling the liquid out of the bowl and somehow managing to save it all. “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” he hisses, glaring at Yuta as he pants heavily to soothe his shock. “Almost wasted this.” He hands the bowl to Yuta, who grins at him sheepishly.

“Sorry,” Yuta says half-heartedly. He glances between the bowl and Doyoung, steeling himself for the medicine.

But the liquid in the bowl isn’t even odorless like it was the day before—instead, Yuta smells chamomile and spearmint. There’s something citrus-y if Yuta keeps sniffing, like lemon and oranges.

Yuta chews the inside of his cheek and downs the substance in one go like he’s used to, and is surprised when it tastes exactly how it smells. The feeling it gives him reminds Yuta of breathing in the fresh air on the top of a mountain, snowy wind, soft snowfall, _freedom._ It tastes like sitting in front of the fireplace during winter, inhaling the scent of chamomile after a long day, snowflakes peppering a head of dark hair, gummy smiles filled with breathless laughter. The sound of Yuta’s heart pounding in his ears grows louder and louder, his breath leaving his lungs, because—

“Yuta?”

Yuta’s head snaps up, and Doyoung is still standing in front of him, the mossy green tea cup in his outstretched arm. His head is tilted to the side, eyebrows drawn up slightly in concern. He offers the cup closer to Yuta and says, “You okay? Are you feeling sick?” The worry seeps through his words.

His lips curl into a small pout, and Yuta wants to kiss it so much.

He doesn’t, though. Instead, he shakes his head and accepts the drink, even though he doesn’t need it anymore. “M’okay,” he mumbles, still trying to control the beating of his heart. Sipping the drink doesn’t help his nerves like he expected it to, but he forces a grin in Doyoung’s direction anyways. “I’m okay,” he reassures again through all of the thoughts racing around his head.

Doyoung looks at him for a moment longer, doubt in his eyes, before he takes the empty bowl from Yuta and rinses it out in the sink. When he turns off the faucet and the sound of running water ceases, he turns back to Yuta and looks down, shy. “I’m… sorry about yesterday,” he mumbles, staring at his shoes and fidgeting in place. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone, I just—” He cuts himself off, biting his lip and bringing a hand up to his neck to rub it.

“It’s okay.” Yuta saves him from having to explain himself. “I didn’t mind, I just wanted to know if you were okay.” He pauses, stepping towards Doyoung so he can see the younger’s face, the closer proximity doing nothing to calm the pounding of his heart. “ _Are_ you okay?” he asks carefully. He resists the urge to reach out and hold Doyoung’s hand in his.

Doyoung’s eyes grow calmer, shoulders relaxing and the fidgeting coming to a halt. “Yes, I think so,” he answers sincerely, giving Yuta a thankful grin that makes his heart flutter painfully in his chest.

 _I have to tell him,_ Yuta thinks suddenly. Doyoung turns back around to face the stove, and Yuta looks on at his broad back and head of wavy hair, longing spreading throughout every inch of him.

_I have to tell him._

Doyoung walks out of his room that night, Yuta watching him from the couch in concern. “Is Ten doing alright?” he asks, thinking about how he hadn’t seen Ten much at all throughout the day. He had left the house almost as soon as he woke up, coming home in the evening with tired eyes and walking with small steps into Doyoung’s bedroom, where he’s stayed since.

Doyoung joins Yuta on the couch, sitting himself down on the opposite end. “He’ll be okay, he just wanted to sleep in my bed for now,” he says, folding his hands together in his lap. “Sicheng is with him, so he’ll be okay.” He says it like he’s trying to convince himself, something Yuta has noticed he does when he’s unsure about something but wants to be right.

He wants Doyoung to be right, too. “I hope he sleeps well,” he comments, glancing back to the bedroom door. The two sit in comfortable silence after that, Doyoung pulling out his phone as Yuta’s heart begins to beat louder in his ears.

 _I have to tell him,_ he reminds himself, feeling his palms start to sweat nervously. He can’t remember the last time he was so nervous for anything, and the uncertainty of it all is almost enough for him to back out, but he speaks up before he can. “The remedy was different this morning,” he blurts out. He winces at the volume of his own voice and forces himself to take a couple of breaths to get it together.

Doyoung looks up from his phone and slips it back into his pocket, interest peaked. “Oh?” he says, a questioning lilt to his tone. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I didn’t really know how,” Yuta reveals awkwardly, and at least it’s the truth. “It was different yesterday, but today was… more so,” he settles for.

“Yesterday too?” Doyoung asks, cocking his head to the side. “Different how?” he wonders, pushing for more details.

Yuta swallows drily. “Uh, yesterday there was—there was nothing,” he explains, recalling feeling the liquid go down his throat without struggle, more tasteless than water. “Felt like nothing, tasted like nothing, so it was easy.” He wipes his palms on his sweats as discreetly as he can, trying to ignore the way Doyoung follows the movement with his eyes.

He doesn’t point it out, though. “What about today?” Doyoung questions further.

“Today…” Yuta trails off. He finds it difficult to describe, doesn’t think he can fully put into words exactly how he felt, so he doesn’t. “It was good, I really liked it. I loved it,” he ends up saying. The taste of fresh air and soft snow lingers on his tongue. “You said I would know when I was healed. I know, now,” he lets out with conviction. He turns his head to the side and dares to look at Doyoung.

Doyoung’s face crumbles in front of his eyes before he shakes his head vehemently, chewing the inside of his cheek. “That’s—that’s good, that’s good,” he says to himself with that same tone, like he’s trying to convince himself again. He grips his knees with enough force for Yuta to see his hands shake. “This is what you wanted, right? Now you can go back to loving him like you did before.” Doyoung’s eyes quiver as he stares at his hands on his knees, resolutely avoiding Yuta’s gaze. 

Realization dawns on Yuta, and it’s his turn to shake his head. “Not—not him,” Yuta tells Doyoung. He moves himself closer to him, closing the distance between them on the couch, and places his hand over Doyoung’s.

“Not him,” Yuta repeats, stroking his thumb over the smooth skin of Doyoung’s hand. And Yuta thinks that even though he misses Taeil, misses the years he’s lost to the curse, he’s telling the truth. He knows where his heart lies.

“It’s you, Doyoung.” Yuta’s heart falters when he lets the words out. “It’s you that I love.”

Doyoung goes completely still. “What?” he whispers, eyes wide in disbelief.

“I just needed you to know,” Yuta rambles on, trying to save face as he prepares for rejection. “You did it, Doyoung, you healed me. And I know that because I love you,” he reiterates. Despite it all, he feels relief that he can say those words and _mean_ it for the first time in decades.

It’s silent for another moment until Doyoung breaks it. “You can’t,” he mutters under his breath.

Yuta freezes when he hears him. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. “What?” he asks, confused.

He starts to feel Doyoung’s hands shake underneath his again. “You can’t,” Doyoung repeats, louder this time, eyes still trained on his knees to escape looking at Yuta. “You—you haven’t even known me that long.” His unconvincing tone of voice is back, and it trembles with emotion. “You don’t even know me,” he says lowly, gritting his teeth.

Yuta feels the pain in his chest increase tenfold, the words piercing through to his core and hurting him enough for his breath to stop. “You can’t tell me how to feel,” he bites back, more wounded than angry, but defensive all the same. “I—”

“You don’t _know_ me,” Doyoung says again, cutting him off louder. “You don’t know—what I’ve done, how much hurt I cause, the mistakes I’ve made—you don’t know!” he exclaims fearfully. He takes his hand back from underneath Yuta’s and starts to stand, but Yuta’s body decides before his brain does that he won’t let Doyoung do that.

Yuta gets up faster than Doyoung can and he pushes his chest back down, Doyoung’s back hitting the couch. Yuta’s knees end up on either side of Doyoung’s thighs, his hands on the couch by the sides of his head, caging him in and keeping him seated. He leans forward, their faces an inch apart, and Yuta feels Doyoung’s heavy breath on his lips. One of Doyoung’s hands comes up to grip Yuta’s wrist tightly, willing him to let him go, but Yuta remains firm, unmoving. 

He opens his mouth to tell Doyoung something, anything, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

The bedroom door is thrown open then, Ten entering the room in a rush, Sicheng trailing close behind him. Ten’s hair is messy, like he just woke up, his eyebrows furrowed, and he looks around like he’s trying to find something.

Before Yuta or Doyoung say anything, Ten looks straight at Doyoung, unsettled, and says, “Something—something’s wrong.” He turns his head and trains his eyes on the front door, eyebrows creasing further in concentration. The purple of his eyes glimmer, and his irises become more catlike by the second. “Taeyong’s here.”

“Taeyong?” Doyoung mutters, expression growing concerned. His eyes glow their emerald green, and he whips his head around towards the door.

Sure enough, Yuta hears the sound of the door opening itself up, so he scrambles off of Doyoung and helps him off the couch, pulling him by the hand until Doyoung is on his feet. The door flings open before Doyoung can get to it, and Taeyong bursts in, breathless.

“Help,” he calls out, shaky and desperate. “Doyoung, you—you have to help.”

Never has Yuta seen Taeyong look so helpless and distraught. Taeyong is prone to bouts of worry and stress, it’s just how he is, but he’s always managed to come down from it when they become too much, whether that comes in the form of Johnny placing a comforting hand on his shoulder or Taeyong taking it upon himself to get it under control.

But in this moment, Taeyong is alone, no Johnny to put an arm around his shoulders to ground him, and Yuta can tell by the frantic tone of his voice that this isn’t just worry or stress—this is fear.

It’s then that Yuta notices that Taeyong isn’t alone; in his arms, cradled closely to his chest, is a tiny lion cub, his fur matted with blood.

“Mark?” Yuta whispers, startled by the appearance of the cub, red matted in splotches on his front legs and his stomach.

Taeyong holds Mark even more closely to himself, his grip on the cub beginning to quiver. “Help him,” he pleads to Doyoung. Fresh blood runs off of Mark’s fur from his front paw and onto the floor. 

Doyoung immediately holds his arms out to take the cub from Taeyong, and Taeyong hands him over, arms returning to wrap around himself to keep from falling apart, paying no attention to the blood he gets on his clothes. Doyoung moves quickly, settling Mark down on the couch that Ten had hastily thrown a sheet over, laying him down gently. The whiteness of the sheet quickly becomes stained with red, but Doyoung doesn’t seem to pay it any mind as he hovers his hands over Mark’s small body. His hands glow green with light until the cub is replaced with a violet mist interwoven with blackness. When the air clears, Mark is lying on the couch, fully human with a pained expression and blood soaking through his pajama shirt. Doyoung swiftly strips Mark of the shirt, revealing lacerations scattered across his arms and chest.

The cuts are thin, although long, but some of them bleed heavily onto the sheet below him, making Yuta suck in a breath. He hears Taeyong curse next to him.

“What happened?” Doyoung asks clinically, dropping to his knees next to the couch and trailing his hand over the long cuts that litter Mark’s chest.

“Jungwoo,” Taeyong says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Doyoung mutters “ _shit_ ” under his breath. “He was having a nightmare again, so Jaemin called. I didn’t bring Hyuck or Johnny because we’ve done this so many times before, but—but this was worse than normal,” Taeyong explains in a rush. “He tried to attack in his sleep, and Mark took the worst of it.”

“And you?” Doyoung asks Taeyong, watching with his eyebrows drawn together as a new cut appears on Mark’s chest, overlapping the existing ones, and Mark’s expression pinches in pain. “You good?” Doyoung questions, turning to Taeyong.

“None of it got to me, just Mark, _please_ help him,” Taeyong cries, voice broken.

Doyoung looks back and forth between the blood on Mark’s chest and Taeyong’s frightened expression, panic starting to creep up on him. “I—I can’t,” he whispers.

Yuta’s eyes widen at the same time Taeyong insists, “You _can,_ Doyoung, this is your job, this is what you _excel_ at.”

Doyoung shakes his head vigorously, keeping his eyes on anything but Mark. “I’ll just—I’m just going to make a mistake and mess it all up,” he stresses, hands shaking at his sides. “I don’t know how to heal this, it’s—it’s useless if Kun’s not here,” he exclaims like he’s admitting a secret that he’s been too scared to let into the open.

Something in Taeyong’s expression switches then, from desperation to understanding, as he kneels next to Doyoung, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. Doyoung watches him with wild eyes, his breath coming out short and shallow. Taeyong offers him a shaky grin and says, “Mark doesn’t need magic to be healed, those wounds will heal on their own. He just needs the magic that’s attacking him out of his system. I know you can do that, Doyoung, I’ve seen you do it.” He grips Doyoung’s shoulder in assurance, doing his best not to glimpse at the blood falling from Mark’s chest onto the couch.

Doyoung takes in breath at irregular intervals, opening and closing his mouth until his eyes finally land on Yuta, who’s standing nearby and watching in apprehension. Yuta levels him with a look of determination that he hopes motivates Doyoung out of his fear and mouths, _“everything will be okay.”_

They share a look for a moment longer before Doyoung swallows, turning back to Mark and muttering, “Need more light.” He reaches his arm out in back of him without turning around, and suddenly the fire is alight with flames, making Yuta startle. He’s never seen Doyoung start the fire with his magic before.

Taeyong lets out the smallest breath of relief through his nose and backs up to give Doyoung space, taking his place next to Yuta again. “Thank you,” he whispers to Yuta. “He gets in his own head sometimes and finds it hard to listen to us, but… I think he trusts you,” he murmurs.

Yuta bites his bottom lip and watches Doyoung’s backside. “We’ll see,” he mumbles to himself.

“Ten,” Doyoung says, voice authoritative and eyes emerald as he looks up at the familiar. “Can you tell me where the magic is in Mark and how much damage it’s done?”

Ten nods and moves to stand next to Doyoung, leaning down and placing his hand directly on Mark’s bloody chest. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, exhaling slowly. “No damage done to his organs,” he relays methodically, pressing his hand ever so slightly harder against Mark’s chest, trying his best not to cause him more pain. “Jungwoo may have been asleep when he attacked, but he still managed to hold back,” he utters. “His magic isn’t lethal, but it’s growing. There’s some in his arms, but it’s mostly contained to his chest.” Ten’s eyebrows furrow and he purses his lips. “It’s going for his lungs,” he finishes.

“Fuck, okay, keep me updated,” Doyoung says. He nods at Sicheng, who moves to Doyoung’s other side and puts a hand on his shoulder. It shimmers faintly, something Yuta recognizes seeing from Jisung and Jaemin. “Can someone open the window a crack?”

“It’s snowing,” Yuta mentions even as he unlatches the lock on the window and opens it a few inches, letting the frigid air into the house, along with some snow that catches on the curtain. 

“Perfect,” Doyoung says. “Pull the curtain back, I need the snow,” he orders into the room, so Yuta complies.

Yuta watches in awe as the snow from the window flows into the room with direction, hovering over Doyoung’s open palms. Doyoung whispers to the snowflakes that keep coming into the room in currents to fly over the air above Doyoung’s hands.

“Keep your hand on him, Ten, I need you to tell me where the magic is and how much of it is left,” Doyoung instructs, and Yuta observes as the snow goes from hovering in Doyoung’s palms to seeping into the skin of Mark’s arms and chest. Taeyong sucks in a breath next to him, undoubtedly nervous watching the process begin even though he’s seen Doyoung at work before.

It’s then that Yuta hears the sound of the door opening up again, and suddenly Jungwoo is in the doorway looking disheveled and afraid, Jaehyun not far behind him in dog form.

“Is he okay?” he asks, voice small but frantic. “Mark, is—is he—”

Doyoung’s jade eyes flicker up towards Jungwoo before focusing back on his hands that rest on Mark’s chest. “You shouldn’t be here right now, Woo,” he mumbles. “You’re not stable enough.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Jungwoo says, rambling. His voice hitches when he speaks. “I would never hurt Mark or anyone else, I didn’t mean it,” he cries. Outside, the snowstorm grows in its ferociousness and threatens to break the glass windows the more Jungwoo talks.

“Woo, you need to calm down,” Doyoung tries to say steadily while he presses his hands harder on Mark’s chest, trying to spread his own snow to the exact points where the magic is attacking Mark from the inside.

But Yuta can tell Jungwoo can’t hear Doyoung over his erratic breathing. “I’m sorry,” he sobs, guilt bleeding from his tone. Thunder claps loudly in the storm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” Hail pelts violently against the windows.

Taeyong leaves his space by Yuta to approach Jungwoo. He places his hands gently on Jungwoo’s shaking arms and tells him, soothingly, “It’s okay, Jungwoo. You don’t need to be sorry. I know Mark understands, he knows you would never hurt him on purpose.” Jungwoo hiccups and tears run down his face as he keeps apologizing like a mantra. Lightning strikes then, too close for comfort, and Taeyong moves a hand to Jungwoo’s eyes and covers them, uttering something Yuta can’t understand. When he takes his hand away, Jungwoo’s eyes are closed and he slumps forward into Taeyong’s arms. The storm outside calms considerably as Jungwoo sleeps.

In a swirl of auburn, Jaehyun appears as a human, snarling at Taeyong, a sound so inhuman and primal that Yuta nearly shivers.

But Taeyong stands his ground, expression hard when he says, “He’s just asleep,” in a level voice.

When his growling doesn’t stop, Doyoung speaks up. “Jaehyun,” he almost shouts, trying not to take his eyes off the hands he has on Mark’s chest. “Jungwoo is fine, you _know_ we would never do anything to harm him, I know you know this,” he stresses. He glances up, sweat dripping from his temple, jaw clenched. “Please fucking cool it. You’re stressing me out, and I don’t want to hurt Mark.”

All it takes is Sicheng whispering, “Jaehyun,” carefully for the fight to leave from Jaehyun’s eyes. He grits his teeth in shame and apologizes, taking Jungwoo from Taeyong’s arms and laying him down in the armchair, his legs dangling off of the armrest.

Taeyong moves to close the front door, but Doyoung stops him. “Keep it open, need more snow,” he grits out, letting more snow into the house. The snow from outside all gathers onto Mark’s skin, permeating into it, Doyoung’s eyebrows furrowing further in concentration.

“Is that it, did I cover it all?” Doyoung asks, panting with his hands spread on Mark’s chest.

Ten nods, having moved to straddle Mark to keep his hands atop his chest where most of the magic was attacking him. Several new lacerations have opened up in an attempt to fend off Doyoung’s magic, but Doyoung and Ten let the blood run off of their hands, focusing only on getting the magic out of Mark. “Get it out, now,” Ten rushes.

Doyoung takes one more deep breath, murmuring, “Okay.” He begins to lift his hands off of Mark’s skin, his fingers lingering last, until his hands fully hover in the air over the space where they used to be. The snow that had seeped into Mark’s skin earlier starts flowing back out towards Doyoung’s hands.

Yuta’s eyes widen when he realizes the snow is black like coal instead of white. The sight is haunting, seeing the darkness that was in Mark now leaving him slowly, accumulating into the air by Doyoung’s hands. It’s a lot of snow, more than Yuta would have thought, and it starts gathering and swirling around Doyoung and Ten’s hands. The two of them flinch but otherwise don’t move, Ten keeping his hand in place and Doyoung raising them higher to accommodate the snow that’s leaving Mark’s body.

Yuta realizes, slowly, that Doyoung and Ten’s hands are covered in their own blood now, not just Mark’s, and that the black snow is giving them papercut-like slits on their hands. He wants to jump forward, tell them to stop, but he stays in place and holds his breath, waiting for it all to be over.

“Am I done? Did I get it all?” Doyoung asks, out of breath, the amount of snow floating in the air building more and more. He winces again at the pain from the black snow, but he holds it all despite the sting.

Ten cracks an eye open, sweat dripping down his cheek as he smirks. “What, getting tired?” he quips, flinching as fresh blood dribbles down his finger. “Just a little more, right by his lungs. You’re almost there,” he informs Doyoung, closing his eyes again and focusing on detecting the magic in Mark rather than the wounds littering his hand.

It takes another moment of black snow leaving Mark’s chest for Ten to open his eyes and yell, “Now!” He lifts his hand and holds it to his own chest while Doyoung whispers to the snow in hushed tones. He motions with his arms towards the window and door swiftly, and in a few seconds, the black snow disperses out of the door and the crack in the window.

There’s silence in the room for a beat before Doyoung’s arms fall to his sides tiredly and Ten hangs his head in exhaustion, both of them gasping for air. Sicheng falls to his knees besides Doyoung and rests his head on his shoulder grumbling, “We’re so out of shape.”

Doyoung and Ten huff out laughs at that, looking up at each other and giving one another a bloody fist bump. They look down at Mark, who’s sleeping soundly underneath Ten, and find the cuts on his chest and arms are closed up, likely to leave thin scars but nothing more. Doyoung turns his torso around to give a weak thumbs up to Taeyong, who almost collapses in relief. Instead, Taeyong kneels on Doyoung’s other side and gives him a bone-crushing embrace.

“I knew you could do it,” he whispers by Doyoung’s ear. Doyoung doesn’t say anything back, only wraps his arms around Taeyong in return.

He sends a glance Yuta’s way, and Yuta replies with a grin and thumbs up of his own.

Taeyong tells Yuta to check on Doyoung after the other has finished showering, assuring Yuta that he and Jaehyun can clean the blood off of Mark’s chest without his help. Yuta doesn’t need to be convinced, knowing Taeyong is more than capable of cleaning without him, and after getting nods and smirks of approval from Sicheng and Ten, he waits for the sound of the shower to stop before entering Doyoung’s bedroom.

He finds Doyoung sitting on the edge of his bed, running a towel over his curls sluggishly with his bandaged hands. Yuta walks forward after closing the door behind him, reaching out for the towel and offering, “Let me help.” Doyoung looks reluctant to let him, but the exhaustion wins out as his hands fall limply into his lap. His body relaxes as soon as Yuta starts to rub the towel over his wet hair.

They remain like this in silence while Yuta towel-dries Doyoung’s hair for him. When he’s finished, he takes the towel off of Doyoung’s head and places it to the side. Doyoung has his head hung low, making it so Yuta can’t see his face, and Yuta won’t have any of that.

“Hey, look at me,” he says gently, hooking a delicate finger under Doyoung’s chin and angling his head upwards. Doyoung lets him, eyes filled with hesitance and insecurity, and Yuta’s heart aches. “You did well, tonight. Ten said that Mark is healed, all that’s left is to recover from the blood loss. You did well,” he repeats, trailing his finger downwards to cup Doyoung’s neck, skin warm from his shower.

Doyoung’s eyes gleam at the praise, but he still bites his lip in uncertainty. “That could have gone really bad,” he says, quiet. “The last time I tried to do that, it—everything went wrong,” he whispers. Yuta strokes his thumb across his jaw soothingly. “And I thought Jungwoo and I were making progress, but he still has nightmares that get out of control like this.”

“Hey, that’s not on you,” Yuta reassures, holding Doyoung’s face in his palm. “Ten said that it could’ve been worse, he said that Jungwoo held back, even while he was asleep. Doesn’t that mean he’s getting better?” He moves his hand to the nape of Doyoung’s neck, rubbing lightly.

Doyoung, despite himself, eases into the touch, eyelids fluttering shut. Yuta keeps caressing his neck comfortingly, letting Doyoung gather his thoughts.

“Destruction,” Doyoung eventually lets out in a low breath. “That’s Jungwoo’s primary magic. Weather magic is his secondary magic, but destruction is the one he was born into. At its core, Jungwoo’s magic is similar to dark magic, which is why I’m able to control it to an extent.” Yuta nods, gently urging Doyoung to continue. “It’s primarily driven by emotion, the biggest one being fear, so when Woo has nightmares, they can be…” Doyoung bites his lip, not wanting to say anything to imply that Jungwoo is a threat, so he goes on. “Jaemin introduced us about a year ago, mostly because he wanted someone to train Jungwoo to control his magic better, but partly because…” He sighs softly, hunching over. “I think he thought I needed a distraction,” he confesses.

Yuta doesn’t say anything, understanding clicking into place, but he waits for Doyoung to keep going. It takes a few more moments of Yuta’s thumb rubbing soft circles on the nape of Doyoung’s neck, but finally Doyoung says, “I messed up.” He chews on the inside of his cheek, wringing his hands together in his lap anxiously. “It was a couple of years ago, I—I really messed everything up. I used dark magic on someone because I thought there was no other choice, and it worked, but now—now I don’t even know if it was worth it,” he whispers.

Yuta pulls Doyoung’s head towards himself, resting it against his stomach. “Can I tell you something?” He feels Doyoung nod against him. “I know,” he admits. “Sicheng told me about Kun yesterday.”

Doyoung snaps back like he’s been burned, eyes wide and terrified when they look up at Yuta. “You knew?” His voice is lilted with anxiety and betrayal, and his bottom lip wobbles in fear.

Yuta kneels in front of him, placing his hand over Doyoung’s bandaged one, and looks up at him, determined to keep going. “Can I tell you something else?” He doesn’t wait for Doyoung’s answer. “I know Kun. He frequents the bookstore that Johnny and I work at, so I knew his face but never his name until yesterday.”

Doyoung sucks in a harsh breath, blinking down at Yuta with shock written all over his face. “You know, my life was really fucking boring until I walked into Jaemin’s shop,” he says, remembering the moment he decided to walk through the wooden, red door. “I had Johnny before that, but he was my first friend in _years,_ and I constantly pushed him away even when he reached out.” Lunches together, dinners, holidays—Yuta’s turned them all down in the past.

“Kun comes into the bookstore about once a week. He knows Johnny, so he tends to stick around the store even after he’s bought something, and I got to know him a little because of that,” Yuta continues. He doesn’t break eye contact with Doyoung as he speaks, watching the other hold his breath. “He talks about his work, how close he is with the people he writes songs for, and the parties with his coworkers that he actually enjoys.” Yuta moves his other hand to Doyoung’s thigh, fingertips pressing lightly into his pajamas to help keep Doyoung grounded. “He always tells me when a new hair color looks awful or great on me, he always gets me coffee when I’m visibly tired at work, always invites Johnny and I to parties with his friends even though I say no every time. Do you get what I’m trying to say?”

Doyoung’s lips part slightly in what Yuta perceives as understanding, but he doesn’t say anything back, and Yuta doesn’t mind spelling it out for him anyways. “I’m saying Kun is _alive_.” Yuta squeezes Doyoung’s hand and thigh caringly. “And it sounds like he’s doing well. And he brings these bright shades of yellow into my otherwise overwhelmingly grey life, and it’s because of you.” He squeezes Doyoung’s thigh again to get his point across. “You’re not weak for the choice you made, you’re strong for having decided at all. How couldn’t I love you?” he whispers to Doyoung, stroking his thumb over the bandaged hand.

A tear makes its way silently down Doyoung’s face, and he makes no move to wipe it away, letting it fall onto the hand that rests on his thigh. He leans over to match Yuta, resting his forehead against the other’s. Yuta feels the warmth from his face against his own and he revels in it. “I think…” Doyoung starts, warm breath fanning over Yuta’s mouth. “I think I need some time,” he finishes, pulling away.

Yuta feels his heart drop, but he’s quick to pick it back up. He nods, murmuring, “Okay,” to Doyoung as he pulls himself away as well. He stands to his feet and turns around, ready to spend the night sleeping on the floor by Jaehyun or something, when he feels a tug on his sleeve. He turns his head towards the fist gripping his sleeve and looks back to Doyoung, a question on his face.

“I need some time,” Doyoung repeats, looking up at Yuta with imploring eyes. “But just for tonight, can… can you stay?” he asks, voice small and shy. He averts his eyes after he’s asked, a pink blush appearing high on his cheeks.

And Yuta has known since the beginning, but that doesn’t stop his heart from stuttering at the features that Doyoung possesses, his pink lips, wavy hair, pretty collar bones, lovely eyes. He bends down so that he’s at Doyoung’s eye level and cups his face in his hand again, turning Doyoung’s face towards his.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuta mumbles. “And I’ll do anything for you.”

🌿🌿🌿

Yuta wakes up in the morning, in his own dreary apartment in the city, undoubtedly and crushingly alone.

He jerks up in bed, throwing the sheets off of himself and running out of his bedroom, looking for a sign that someone else is there with him, but there’s no one. He swallows around the lump in his throat and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to somehow be back in that little house in the mountains with Ten and Sicheng sleeping soundly on the window ledge, Doyoung standing at the stove.

Yuta opens his eyes slowly, and he’s still in his own living room, the silence deafening to his ears.

He shakes his head to keep the oncoming tears at bay, already feeling the loneliness creeping up his spine, when he spots something on his counter. He makes his way over to it and feels his breath catch in his throat when he realizes it’s his mossy green teacup.

There’s a slip of paper sitting underneath it, written in handwriting that Yuta doesn’t recognize that reads, _“You don't have to be alone anymore. You’re free, Yuta.”_

Yuta bites his lip to keep from smiling too widely when he flips the paper over and reads the words, over and over again: _“PS: I’ll be coming back to get my teacup.”_

🌿🌿🌿

Yuta takes Doyoung’s words to heart as much as he can, jumping at opportunities to be with others as often as his work schedule allows it. He still spends his lunches in Jaemin’s shop, that he can thankfully still see. (“Once you’ve been touched by magic, you’ll be able to see everything that magic-users see, even after it’s gone,” Jaemin explains. Yuta’s relief is so palpable, Jaemin laughs.)

He doesn’t just spend his lunches at Jaemin’s, though, making it a point to drop by with drinks from the café after his shifts, always looking forward to the warm welcome he gets because of it. It takes Jungwoo a few days to stop radiating guilt and anxiety after what happened with Mark, but after Yuta drops by with his fourth drink, he finally sees Jungwoo smile.

Johnny is so surprised when Yuta finally accepts an invitation to dinner that he gasps loudly in the bookstore and picks Yuta up in a crushing hug. Most of their hangouts outside of work end up consisting of drinking beers and watching Mark and Donghyuck wrestle at Johnny’s and Taeyong’s home, but Yuta wouldn’t have it any other way. Donghyuck waits patiently until Mark is fully recovered from his blood loss before he starts rough-housing with him again, making Yuta snort.

Yuta laughs, cries, _lives_ freely for what feels like the first time. He feels like himself again.

At the end of the week, Yuta is at Johnny’s house for dinner again; Johnny’s and Taeyong’s actual home isn’t far from the bookstore Yuta and Johnny work at. It’s a small house that’s always lively when Yuta is there, and he feels comfortable instantly. Taeyong always laments having to leave for his job in that apartment in the middle of Seoul, which has hours in the morning and the evening since he works best during twilight, but Yuta always assures him that he’s okay being at home with only Johnny even if Johnny is a boring host.

He gets a kick in the side for that. “Ow, kidding, kidding,” he laughs. Johnny frowns at him from where he lies out on the couch, feet propped up on Yuta’s legs. “Get your feet off of me, heathen,” Yuta says in mock disgust, leaning as far back into the couch and away from the feet on his legs as possible.

Taeyong finishes slipping on his shoes and looks between the two fondly. “Don’t make a mess while I’m gone,” he says, opening the door, letting Mark and Donghyuck exit before him.

“Later, Yong,” “See you, babe,” Yuta and Johnny say simultaneously, making both Yuta and Donghyuck gag loudly. Taeyong and Johnny roll their eyes at them, and Taeyong leaves, closing the door behind him.

The two of them sit in silence comfortably while Yuta sips on his tea. He notices Johnny staring at him with a look on his face, so he quirks an eyebrow up in question.

Johnny shakes his head, the corners of his lips curling up in a grin. “It’s just—” He juts his bottom lip out in thought. “Taeyong and I were talking about how it sort of feels like we’re seeing you for the first time.”

Yuta raises his eyebrows, not expecting that. He smiles at Johnny, saying, “It kind of feels like I’m seeing the world for the first time, too. Sort of like… when you first wear glasses,” he likens it to, the feeling of life being so much more vivid and bright now that he’s himself again.

Johnny scoffs, pressing his toes into Yuta’s legs. “You don’t even need glasses,” he accuses. Yuta squirms away from the offending toes, and Johnny laughs. “But I see what you mean. Ha.” Johnny moves his legs off the couch in a swift movement to avoid getting slapped by Yuta. “Seriously though, it’s like… it’s still you, but now I can really _see_ you. Like your heart is everywhere now, and because of that, I can actually know you. It feels like I’m finally meeting you,” Johnny tries to explain.

Yuta feels warmth spread throughout his body, and he can’t stop the smile from growing on his face. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Johnny,” he plays along happily, sipping on his tea.

Johnny grins in his direction, putting his feet up on Yuta’s legs again, making him whine in retaliation. Johnny ignores him, instead saying, “It’s also way easier to tell when something’s bothering you.”

“Yeah, your toes are bothering me.”

“No, I meant—I could tell the whole week that something was bothering you,” Johnny clarifies, even though he wriggles his toes just to get a reaction from Yuta. “Is it Doyoung?” he prods carefully, voice unassuming.

Yuta’s breath hitches, and he bites his lip. “Is it that obvious?”

Johnny nods apologetically, shooting him a smile.

“I just... miss him,” he admits, curling his hands around his mug. “But he said he’d be back, and I trust him,” he says resolutely, nodding to himself.

Johnny hums, sending Yuta a look of understanding. “I’m glad you trust him over all else,” he offers as some solace. “And I hope you don’t have to wait much longer.”

Yuta sips his tea, and even though he doesn’t need it anymore, he craves the comfort tea Doyoung made him every morning. “He can take all the time he needs.”

🌿🌿🌿

Yuta gets home a week later after his shift at work and messing around in Jaemin’s shop for a while. He lost a bet with Johnny earlier in the week over whether or not Donghyuck would slip up and call Johnny “Dad” in front of Yuta, and Johnny won when Donghyuck accidentally let it slip, so Yuta was forced to ask Jaemin to help dye his hair a crimson red that caught everyone’s eyes on the street. It’s a color he’s strangely never tried before, because he always thought red was a passionate color that he didn’t suit, but now that it’s the color of his hair, he likes it.

He opens the door to his apartment and toes his shoes off after the long day, thinking to himself he should get a planter of violets like Jaemin has. He automatically throws his coat and bag onto the couch to his right.

“Ow, fuck,” a voice pipes up from the couch.

Yuta jumps a foot into the air and turns his whole body. He’s met with the sight of Doyoung sitting casually on his couch, face scrunched up in mild pain with Yuta’s overcoat draped over his head, clutching his bag. He tosses the bag to the side and drags the coat off of his head, revealing a head of wavy, dark blue hair.

Yuta opens his mouth dumbly. “How did you get in?” he blurts out.

Doyoung stares at him and shrugs. “Magic,” he says like that’s supposed to explain it. Yuta supposes it does.

“When did you dye your hair? And you’re—you’re in Seoul.” Yuta remembers Sicheng detailing to him how much Doyoung avoided the city in order to evade Kun, but here he was, on his couch. 

Doyoung looks up and twirls a wavy lock around his finger. “Few days ago,” he says. “And I wanted—I needed to talk to you, so I came here.” He drops the coat over Yuta’s bag and stands, walking over to where Yuta is still standing in the entranceway of his apartment. “Your place is boring,” he states.

Yuta pouts. “So was I for a while.” He doesn’t know where he finds the willpower to resist running his hands through Doyoung’s newly blue hair.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Doyoung mumbles. He hangs his head low, eyes averting Yuta’s. “I’m—I’m sorry for leaving you alone after that night,” he says suddenly, looking at Yuta for a moment before looking back at the floor. “And I’m sorry for the things I said before that. I shouldn’t have tried to tell you how you feel.”

Any willpower Yuta once had to stop himself from reaching out and holding Doyoung leaves him as he places his hand in his. It’s not bandaged anymore, but Yuta can feel the risen skin over the scars from the cuts on his hand. “You had your reasons,” Yuta reminds him, letting him know that he’s forgiven. “You seemed afraid.”

“I was,” Doyoung confirms, intertwining his long fingers with Yuta’s. “I thought that maybe you’d fallen in love with someone who was hiding something terrible, and whether or not you ever found out, you deserved better,” he articulates clearly, showing Yuta that he’s put a lot of thought into this. “I had to… take some time away from you after spending so much time together so that I could finally reconcile the fact that—I _can_ be loved even though I made such a horrible mistake.” His voice breaks towards the end of it, like it was hard for him to get the words out.

Yuta squeezes the hand in his, pride overflowing for how far Doyoung has come. Doyoung continues speaking, chewing the inside of his cheek nervously. “Back when I used dark magic to… save Kun, I told Ten and Sicheng about the price, and Ten was so angry, so heartbroken. And I completely understood why—I didn’t just take away his witch, I took _everything_ from him.” Doyoung sniffs, so Yuta’s hand reaches up towards his cheek to cup it comfortingly, letting Doyoung lean into it. “He’s actually the one who gave me this,” Doyoung says, pulling the collar of his v-neck to the side, revealing the long, jagged scar ending at his collar bone. Yuta’s eyes widen at the severity of it even though it’s long since been healed over. “He and Sicheng ended up fighting, since Sicheng has to protect me. I didn’t want him to in that moment, but he did. In the end, Sicheng’s protective instinct must have been stronger than Ten’s grief because Ten ran before it could get any worse. No one saw him for a month.”

His hand falls back to his side. “When he came back, he looked awful, so broken, and the only thing I could think was, _‘I did that,’”_ Doyoung recalls sadly. “I took his witch, his whole _purpose,_ and he still came back and accepted when I offered to adopt him as my familiar. I didn’t think I deserved that, deserved him, or Sicheng, or Taeyong, or eventually Jungwoo. I thought Ten would never forgive me, and I thought that Sicheng would think I was an incompetent witch.” He bites his bottom lip and leans further into Yuta’s hand. “Neither were true, but it took me a long, long time to believe that I—I was still worthy of their companionship. You helped me believe that,” Doyoung says, opening his eyes and gazing down at Yuta so adoringly that Yuta’s heart blooms with warmth. “Telling me about Kun, staying by my side even though you already knew what I wanted to keep hidden—I realized then that the one who I’d already fallen for had really fallen for me too,” he whispers, turning his head and pressing his lips lightly against Yuta’s palm.

Yuta’s breath stops and his brain short-circuits and fizzles out into one phrase: _The one who I’d already fallen for._ The astonishment must show on his face because Doyoung huffs out a laugh against his palm. “How could I _not_ fall in love with you?” he asks, like even just the idea is absurd. “You were so fucking _annoying,_ so determined, so friendly, so hot, so bright, so—everything,” Doyoung finishes in one breath. “And you made me feel like I was actually someone who was worth it,” he murmurs.

“You are worth it,” Yuta affirms with his whole heart. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were strong, Doyoung, the things you’ve done for me, for others—you’re so caring it _hurts_.” He swallows and moves his hand to the back of Doyoung’s neck, pulling him down closer to him. “It’s thanks to you that I can even feel these things at all.”

Yuta watches Doyoung gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he nearly leans forward to kiss it. “Thank you for helping me realize that that decision I made wasn’t all of me,” Doyoung whispers wetly, breath warm on Yuta’s skin. “Thank you for worming your way into my life instead of pushing me away.”

“Thank _you_ for healing me instead of turning me away,” Yuta counters with a smile. “And thank you for being yourself, with your magic snow tricks and your caring warmth.”

Doyoung’s breath catches and he wraps both of his arms around Yuta’s waist, pulling him impossibly close. He leans down further, his breath hitting Yuta’s lips when he asks, “Is this…? Can I?” with hesitance.

Yuta grins, so helplessly in love, and pulls Doyoung against him by the back of his neck, their lips connecting softly, tenderly, and Yuta’s heart soars like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.

He can’t help but keep grinning into the kiss, and soon he feels Doyoung smiling too, pulling back briefly to ask, “What, what is it?” before leaning back in to steal another kiss, hard and affectionate against Yuta’s tingling lips.

Yuta pulls away to press his lips to Doyoung’s cheeks. “I still can’t believe I can tell you that I love you, now,” he says, breathless, reaching up to connect their lips again. “By the way, did you get your teacup back?” he asks in between their breaks for air.

Doyoung chuckles against his lips and pulls back, resting his forehead against Yuta’s. “Actually, I thought I’d leave it here,” he admits. “Gives me an excuse to keep coming back.” The sound of his giggle makes Yuta surge up to peck the tip of his nose.

“Why don’t you just stay forever?” Yuta says jokingly, but he’s not shocked to find that he really means it.

Doyoung smiles widely, the kind of smile Yuta saw so often in those photos, and his heart thrums with satisfaction. “Perfect, Ten and Sicheng have already used your shower and are napping in your bed right now,” Doyoung lets out. “There’s going to be fur all over your bed.” 

Yuta breathes out a laugh through his nose and gives one last kiss to Doyoung, pressing his lips against the witch’s lovingly before pulling away. He brings his other hand up to Doyoung’s face, stroking his thumb along the soft skin of his jaw and looks into the shimmering eyes of the one he _loves._

“Perfect,” Yuta echoes Doyoung. “Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who? c:

**Author's Note:**

> if you've made it to this far, thank you for reading my fic! i worked really hard on it, so it means a lot to me that anyone reads it. if you enjoyed it, have any questions, or want to talk about anything at all about the fic, please consider leaving a comment as it absolutely makes my day! you can also find me on twitter and curiouscat if you have more questions! i'd love to talk more about this universe if anyone has any questions or comments hehe 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/mochibbh) // [cc](https://curiouscat.me/mochibbh0201)


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